Broken Coffee Cups
by The Truth's Lie
Summary: In fairy tales, the princess is always rescued from the evil witch by a handsome prince. But with a prostitute for a princess, a fat ass pimp for a witch and a cynical asshole for a prince, will Tweek still get his happy ending? Prostitute!Tweek-Craig.
1. Chapter 1

Tweek let out a gasp of air as Craig collapsed on top of him, sweat sticking them together. Silken sheets rubbed across his stomach as they shifted. "That'll be two-forty." The blonde says, sitting up. Craig rolls the condom off and tosses it into the trash. He lights up a cigarette.

"Stay a while."

"It's an extra twenty dollars for every thirty minutes. Cough up or I'm calling the cops and telling them I was raped."

"You wouldn't do that." Tweek watches the smoke fade into the air.

"I would."

He wouldn't.

"Hmm."

"Two-forty."

Craig sighs and rolls onto his side, fumbling inside a dresser for his wallet. Tweek watches with a strange hunger as the man counts the bills. "Here, two-forty. You get the rest after we spend some time together." Tweek stands up and begins to get dressed. His underpants are gone for good, ripped down the left hip from when Craig got too grabby in the elevator. He sighs. That's forty dollars gone from his "paycheck" if you could call it that. The cheap satin lingerie isn't worth forty dollars but Tweek knows Cartman would rather die than hand off more money then he needs to. He begins to dress at a snail's pace. The blonde buttons his leather skirt without underwear and bites back a smirk when Craig gives out a hiss.

"You aren't going out like that."

"Whatever." Tweek knows he's pushing, he knows if it was one of the others they would still be in Craig's bed, whimpering yes to everything he says. Tweek understands. More regulars equals more money; more money equals better clothes and jewelry that equals more men that equals more money that equals one step closer to freedom. But if Craig was telling the truth, he would never let Tweek go, if he wasn't, then Tweek wouldn't be here at all. Most men don't like smack talk from their whores.

"Tweek?"

Here it comes.

"I love you."

"Yeah, whatever, Craig."

"Is that all you can say?"

Tweek finishes buttoning up his shirt. "Sure, whatever. That's an extra ten dollars, by the way." If it was anyone else, Tweek would have been slapped and pushed out the door before the queen of the house got back, but it's not, it's Craig and he forks over the money. Tweek tries not to snatch. The blonde counts the money as he makes his way to the door. Cartman, fat bastard as he is, counts all the time someone has been gone and subtracts the five minutes they get for their break. If they don't bring enough money, they pay for it out of their paycheck and then the next, most of the time, more people end up in debt to the fat bastard then making money with his "business". Tweek doesn't complain. It's a five dollar fee to whine, ten if you don't "shut your whore mouth".

"Tweek, do you love me?"

"Sure. And if I'm lucky, in a couple of minutes I'll love someone else too." The blonde slams the door shut and tucks the money into his knee high boots. His panty hose are torn down the side. That's another ten dollars. The boy resists the urge to run back and see if he can get some more time. He doesn't stop at the front desk and ducks his head. Cartman doesn't approve of regulars and Tweek needs the money. He stops in front of a street vendor and has the break the hundred. A fifty, a twenty, ten dollars in singles, the rest in fives. He puts the money back into his boot.

240+10-10-40=200.

It's been a bad night.

Cartman's rent; 200 dollars. Meals; 30 dollars.

Total; negative 30 dollars.

Tweek pauses outside the building. After a moment, he starts walking. It was possible that he would make more money, but unlikely. People liked fresh ass and with one look at him, anyone could tell he wasn't fresh. He would just end up wasting more time and throwing away more money. Besides, he was late for dinner. He might as well lose money on food then something else. The blonde shivers in the cold and walks faster, clicking down the sidewalk.

People give him disgusted, curious looks and he is shoved into a wall by a rough bystander. "Whore!" Someone shouts. Tweek keeps walking. He knows he's a whore, and although it bothered him at first, he had forced himself to get used to it. Sighing, the blonde simply allows himself to be glad Cartman has a thing for hermaphrodites and cross-dressers. Otherwise, Tweek would be walking down the street shirtless and in leather pants. Generally, you have two types of men buying male prostitutes; the full on out-of-the-closet people who want to fuck some manly-man type, or the men who are ashamed of being attracted to men but can't get it up with women. The last type want girly males to warm their bed, someone they can pretend is female. Tweek isn't that feminine, but with a shit load of make-up and dim lighting, it's easier to believe he's a girl then a dude.

Briefly, his mind flutters back to his high school days. His friends used to mock the people he has become, throw food at them as they passed by and laugh as they picked it up and began to eat. "Keep our street corners safe!" they would yell. Tweek wished he hadn't. The memories stung as if he was the one being mocked. Back then, he was going to take on the world and win. Now, he is no better then who he mocked, just more understanding. He understands hunger he understands hopelessness, and he understands the appeal of half-eaten food, even if the only way to get it is to have it thrown at you by snot-nosed punks. Most of the time, he wants to yell back and claw out their eyes. "Your daddy sure seemed to like me!" he wants to yell.

He stews in his angry thoughts until he comes to a run-down nightclub. _South Park, _the neon sign reads, and he scoffs at the stupid joke. It never ceases to make Cartman laugh and that's partly why he hates it. The paper slip on the door reads "closed" and a cold feeling overtakes him. He missed curfew. Chewing on his lip, Tweek hunches his shoulders and walks into hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Cartman is waiting for him. "Vanilla," He acknowledges, "come sit." The blonde edges over and sits down. Leaning back, the fake oak of Cartman's chair creaks ominously under his weight. His chubby fingers stroke a redwood cane loving, a lock of curly red hair tied to the top by a leather string. Tweek winces. He knows whose hair that is…

"Vanilla."

"Yes, Cartman?"

"Where were you?"

Tweek forks over the money. "It was a slow night."

"I see." As his boss begins to count the money, the boy eyes the bowl of fruit that sits next to him. He's hungry. "Just enough. Good job, Vanilla. Care for a bite?" Tweek wonders if he can skip out on eating for tonight. He decides he can.

"No thank you." There is a flash of anger in Cartman's piggy eyes.

"Then go, whore."

He hurried away, stomach growling with every step. Tweek reminded himself to steal some food from Craig tomorrow. "Nilla, psst, Nilla, over here!" Biscuit hissed at him, motioning into his room. "Kenny stole your room for the night; you can sleep with me and the others." Looking around, Tweek hurried into the room. Cream and Sugar looked at him with innocent eyes, Cream curled under his Hello Kitty blanket and Sugar looked anxious. Together, the four blondes made up the South Park Cross Dressers. Out of all of them, Sugar probably hated it the most. Biscuit and Vanilla had been sold into the business, they were used to it, Cream was a newbie, a few weeks at the most, and considered Cartman's property, he cooked, he cleaned and he lied to the cops, no whoring. Sugar however, was Mormon, being gay (and being a prostitute to top it off) went against his religion. "Here you go, old chap." Biscuit said, tossing Tweek an apple.

"Hey, fellas," Cream questioned, "Do you think we're ever gonna get out of this?" This was the signal for story time.

"Of course we are!" Biscuit exclaimed. Checking to make sure the door was closed; he pulled down his pajama pants. 666 was carved crookedly into his hip. "See this? Damien made this mark. One day, he's going to come back for me, I just know it." Cream sighs adoringly.

"I love a good romance." He croons. Sugar doesn't seem convinced, but says nothing, curling into a corner.

"Good night, boys." Sugar mutters.

"Oh, but what about stories? I heard a really good one from Cartman today." Biscuit and Tweek exchange looks. Cream in naïve, he doesn't understand what's going on. All he knows is that a lot of girls work for his employer, it's too dangerous for him to be outside during the day, and they wear strange clothing.

"Not tonight, dear, go to sleep." Cream grumbles but eventually falls asleep. Tweek leans against the wall and closes his eyes. It's a cold night and he already finds himself missing Craig's comfy apartment. "Excuse me, Vanilla?" Tweek cracks open an eye. Biscuit is wringing a strange hat between his fingers, caressing the material before putting it on, taking it off, and repeating.

"Yes?"

He swallows. "Do-do you honestly believe we're going to get out of this?"

The blonde sighs. He's been here a long time, longer then Cream, Sugar, Biscuits, Kenny, (who refuses to be called "Angel") and any of the others. There was only one person before him. And everyone knows who that was.

"Wake up Sugar; I guess we're having a story night after all."

Biscuit gulps and looks down. "Do we have to? I just want to listen to it by myself…"

"Whatever." Tweek pats the seat next to him. Biscuit scrambles for a spot. "Once upon a time, there was a boy. They call him Cinnamon, because of his hair and because no one knows his real name. He was the first redhead-"

"Before Rose and Flame?"

Red and Powder, the blonde thinks. But he stays quiet. They aren't supposed to know each other's real names in case one day the police get involved.

"Yeah. Way before them."

"Oh."

"Can I continue?"

"Yes, sorry."

"But in the beginning, this house was a sweat shop, which is worse is up for you to decide. Cinnamon and Cartman were partners, they had no workers, they had no product and they had no money. One day, Cinnamon came up with an idea to make some more money without telling Cartman. He was the first South Park prostitute. Then Cartman found out. Cinnamon was shocked to find he approved of the way he was making money and soon treated him no better than you would an irritating cat. But Cinnamon had a secret. He didn't go out to see a different client every day, just one boy, wait…no, actually, just one man. His name was Stan and soon-"

"They fell in love!" Biscuit exclaimed in a whisper, cheeks pink with excitement.

"Yes. Stan was very angry at the way Cinnamon was treated, every day he pledged his love for the boy and gave him more money then he needed so he could live comfortably. But Cartman kept spending the money, and kept treating Cinnamon horribly. So one day, with the help of a friend, he planned his escape."

"Who was it?"

Tweek gave a secretive smile. "No one knows, it was before our time. Cinnamon ran away with Stan and was reunited with his family. Cartman was furious, but he never was able to find Cinnamon, no matter how hard he tried. So, Cinnamon and Stan lived happily ever after. The end. Now go to sleep." Biscuit rested against Tweek's shoulder, tracing the scars on his own left hip, scraping the numbers gently.

"Hey, Nilla?"

"What?"

Biscuit swallowed and his accent became heavier. "Do you really think we're going to get our happy ending, or is it just a show we put on for the others?"

He sighed. "Sometimes, Biscuit-"

"Pip."

"What?"

Biscuit began to cry. "Pip. My name is Pip."

He could have laughed. Great Expectations, he had read that book, it fit Biscuit well enough. "Tweek, nice to meet you Pip."

"Charmed." Pip giggled hysterically. "I've been waiting for so many years, sometimes I wonder if he's really going to come for me. Damien promised he would, but he's lied to me before. What if he lied? What if I'm going to end up rotting here forever? What about the others? About Flame and Cream and Sugar and Kenny and Sunshine and Rose? What happens to them? Don't we all deserve our own Stan?"

"Sometimes, Pip, all you need is something to believe in, it doesn't matter if it's true or not. Without hope, we'd just be worms beneath Cartman's feet."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I can't answer something like that. I can't tell the future, But Damien or not, we _will_ get out of here. Now seriously, go to sleep." Pip smiles against his shoulder and crawls away, curling up with Cream. The other blonde snores gently and soon the room fell still. As Tweek shut his eyes, he missed the sad look Sugar gave him.

Tweek knows why they will never tell Cream the story. Cream is Cartman's main boy, unknowingly, he is the house snitch, everything he hears goes straight to the fat ass himself. They can't afford the punishment they would get if Cartman found out, no matter how many times the innocent blond begs to hear the story. Tweek remembers when the house first started. When his dad dropped him off at the run down building and drove off without a second glance. He knows why Cartman hates him so much.

Because Tweek remembers the first boy, the boy Cartman tries to forget. He was Cartman's boyfriend. The reason they aren't supposed to have regulars. The one who turned the supposed-to-be sweatshop into a whorehouse. He was indeed a redhead, the first main boy, the reason Cartman hates Jews.

His name was Kyle Broflovski.


	3. Chapter 3

Craig paced inside his bedroom, cigarette clenched between his teeth. Tweek sat back in a leather chair and crossed one long, pale leg on top of the other, stirring his tea with a silver spoon. He tried to ignore the way Tweek's skirt rode up deliciously milky thighs. "Something wrong, love?" Tweek mocked, taking a sip of Earl Gray.

"You know god damn well something's wrong!" He hissed, tossing the cigarette onto the hardwood floor. He stomped it out and kicked the ash away with his black leather loafer.

"Well, I know what you think is wrong, but I still don't know why you think it's wrong."

"We can't keep doing this."

"Why? I won't tell. Besides, you wouldn't be the first person to have a secret-"

"Don't you _dare _finish that sentence!"

"-Whore. Why not, exactly?"

"You aren't a whore."

"I have sex with people in exchange for money. I give that money to my boss and work with a bunch of people who do the same. Face it, Tucker. I'm a whore." Tweek says cooly.

"No you're not! You're a good person who fell in a bad way and refuses to get help because of your stupide pride."

Tweek hummed lightly and set the empty glass down, sashaying towards the irritated man. "Hush, Craig, and show me why I'm breaking the rules for you." He purred. Craig froze, eyebrows furrowing.

"What rules?"

The blonde undid his tie. "Cartman doesn't like us having regulars, says it gives us ideas, and makes us think our opinions matter."

"But they do!" He protested and pushed Tweek away. The blonde stumbled and rolled his eyes, sitting down on the bed, crossing his arms childishly.

"That's not what he thinks. And I've been with him for years, I should know."

"Years, Tweek what are you-" He froze. "Tweek, how many years have we been seeing each other?" Tweek plucked a gourmet chocolate out of a box on the nightstand and smiled bitterly.

"About two."

"How long have you been with Cartman?" Craig already knew his name and hated every syllable.

Tweek ducked his head and slowly took a bite of the chocolate. "Eight."

"You're only twenty four years old!"

"Blame my dad."

Craig looked at Tweek strangely and made his way over to the bed. "Why won't you just come live with me?" He whispers.

"Craig, you've admitted it yourself, you're boring. You don't love me; you love the excitement of knowing you've saved a whore from her big bad pimp. You'd get bored with me in a week and kick me out in two. Not to mention Cartman would hunt me down and either kill me, or drag me back by hair." Tweek let out a bitter laugh and let the chocolate fall to the floor, flopping onto the sheets. "Besides, the kids need me. They need something to believe in, and I'm the best they've got."

"I'd get them out too."

"You can't house twenty prostitutes without someone noticing."

"I don't care if people knew I was housing Hitler, I love you!"

"Yeah, I know."

He groaned in irritation. "No you don't."

"Sorry that I can't be what you want, Craig." Tweek actually sounded apologetic as he turned glazed eyes to the man.

"Whatever. I got a letter for you by the way. Something from someone called Kyle, you give him my address?"

Tweek paled but slowly nodded, drawing himself up. "Yeah, I told him to mail stuff here. Cream goes through our mail and gives Cartman everything interesting. He's the main boy." Tweek added after a moment.

Craig stood up and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a cup of coffee and a letter. Tweek gratefully took the coffee and took a sip. "I don't mind if you gulp." Craig offered, watching Tweek try to pace himself. The blonde paused before blushing and downing the entire cup with three swallows. "We have to get some meat on your bones eventually; you'll just slow down the progress if you keep picking at your food like you're not hungry." Cartman had taught all of them something; eat slowly and sip, if you act like you're cheap trash, everyone's going to think you're cheap trash. Tweek remained silent and took the letter with shaking hands. _To; Winona Joel, _it read. Tweek smiled. Kyle always made sure to put his fake name, just in case.

"Thank you, Craig." He murmured softly and was surprised at how soft his voice had gotten. Craig smiled and went to refill the cup, leaving the blonde to his letter

"No problem, Tweek."

Slowly, hesitantly, he peeled open the letter. The smell of cologne wafted over him, radiating from the pale paper. Kyle's neat, blocky handwriting filled up the page and with a deep breath, Tweek shifted to the headboard and began to read, sucking on his thumbnail.

_Dear Winona,_

_What the hell do you mean you haven't moved in with him? You love him don't you? I don't understand. He's offering you a life away from all that shit and YOU DON'T TAKE IT? That is some fucked up shit right there, dude. Stan's fine, he says hi and wants you to know if you ever need a place to stay, we have an extra bedroom. I miss you, I really do. Are you okay? You don't have to stay there, something bad is going to happen, I just know it. Promise me you'll at least think about his offer, I can't stand you being there and seeing him every day. I lived with him for years and I know how he gets. The other boys will be fine, they're tough little fuckers. It's you I'm worried about. You've been their too long just because you're afraid of what would happen if you left. And, seriously, they're calling me Cinnamon? What the hell, Cinnamon is brown, not red. Stan finds it fit to start laughing his ass off. I hope to god that The Story of a Stripper Called Cinnamon involves a scared little blonde who helped smuggle notes in to the star crossed lovers. You're important too, honey, no matter how much you try to deny it. It's your life and you have your own story, don't give it up for the sake of others. _

_I know ALL about your stupid little hero complex. Not to mention I have received a few confused letters from a Mr. Tucker concerning your safety. Would you mind talking to him, he seems convinced my name is Galena for some strange reason. He also mentioned if I could talk some sense into you, hoped I would be able to see if you would move in with him. I told him if he hurt you, I would rip off his lower half, force feed him his dick, slit his throat, shove his balls into his chest and tell everyone his name was Craigerella. Even that didn't turn him off. He's a keeper, dude. So, don't date him because you don't love him, but not for any other reason. He loves you, you love him, we're all one big fucked up dysfunctional family. Dig it._

_Love,_

_Felicity Smith,_

_P. S Tell Craigerella y name isn't Galena._

Tweek blinked at the abrupt, scatterbrained writing, aware that Craig was watching him carefully from the doorway. Something bad must be about to happen if Kyle is acting like a scared rabbit. "You okay?" The man offered cautiously.

"I don't know." He murmured, folding the letter into a triangle. Slowly, Tweek made another fold, unaware of what he was doing. Could they really do it, he wondered, could they escape Cartman, could they bring the others? The stories never included this part, the planning, the decision; it always went smoothly without any thought. "I don't know." Tweek said again, examining the paper hat in his lap. The blonde placed it on his head and breathed in the clean smell, closing his eyes. "I'm tired." He said offhandedly.

"You can sleep here tonight." Craig offers.

"Thank you."

Craig walks over and his hand flutters above Tweek's head as he contemplates taking the hat off. Tweek opens his eyes and holds out his arms, motioning for a hug. He hesitates, but obeys, curling up with the smaller man. Tweek giggles softly and turns off the lights. The paper crumbles as they shift and he throws it to the side, resting his head in the crook of Craig's neck. He is surprised at the display of affection but doesn't question it, preferring to hug him tighter. "Night, Tweek."

"Good night…Craig."


	4. Chapter 4

When Tweek had been little, he always woke up to the smell of coffee and breakfast. He would sleepily get dressed for school and go downstairs. His mother and father would smile at him from their end of the table and ask about how he had slept. He would grunt and dig into the platter of pancakes, eggs and bacon and coffee. As he got older and his parents grew thinner, it was reduced to a cup of coffee. He had gotten a job, of course, and started paying room and board but it had never been enough. One day, his dad took him for a car ride. Tweek got out to ask for directions and he had driven away. The blonde didn't bother to chase him. Inside, Kyle was waiting in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He looked exhausted and pained. Tweek looked horrified and hungry. They had taken a good look at each other and burst out laughing. After their hysterical joy-fit was over, Kyle explained in gentle terms what had happened. In exchange for a large sum of money, the Tweaks had agreed to let their son work at their factory. No contact was to be established by the Tweaks request. It was a bit like an apprenticeship if you thought about it, Kyle said cheerfully. But it didn't change anything.

He had been sold.

He had been sold to random strangers by his parents for money.

His childhood fear of being sold into slavery was coming true.

Later on, Tweek would come to understand that he had fainted.

Kyle explained all about the business, about how he and his boyfriend had started it, how they were going to manufacture and sell snack cakes. It had been his boyfriend's idea, the redhead had admitted bashfully. Business had not been going well and they had hoped another set of hands would help. Tweek had not met the mysterious boyfriend until a week later. His first impression was that Cartman was tremendously fat. His stomach was swollen and his limbs stuck out like they didn't belong. His features were too small for his face and if it were anyone else, he would have been good looking at te least. Instead, his breath reeked like onions and their snack cakes, pop tarts dipped in butter, rolled in chocolate milk mix and deep fried. His eyes were watery and his personality was as bad as his appearance. Tweek wasn't quite sure if Cartman even knew his name. He was always referred to as "Blondie" or "Worker" or "Kyle 2" if the real Kyle wasn't anywhere to be found. Around the second month he was there, things began to get better in some ways. He was paid. Not lavishly, but paid, and Cartman grew more bearable, if not tolerable. Kyle, however, began to get worse. His eyes were haunted and afraid. His hands were constantly quivering and he would spend hours in front of the mirror, breathing and staring. When Tweek finally plucked up the courage to ask what was wrong, he was tackled to the ground in a tight hug. They fell asleep like that and woke to the sight of Cartman staring at them with his piggy eyes.

A day later, a letter arrived in the mail, addressed to a Mr. Broflovski. Unsure what he was doing, Tweek jammed the letter into his pocket and continued on with his daily routine. The paper crinkled with every step he took, constantly reminding him of his guilt. Tweek snuck it into Kyle's nightstand before curfew and tried to forget about it. Their eyes met the next morning and Kyle gave him a happy, sweet smile. Slowly, the Jew began to regain his strength and slowly, Tweek began to piece things together. The revelation left him vomiting for ten minutes before he could think straight. Kyle…Kyle had become a prostitute. Kyle had become a prostitute to support Cartman and him. Cartman knew and he was letting it happen. Tweek bent over the porcelain bowl and retched. Kyle didn't seem very upset about his whore status anymore, he seems to accept it and even some nights, he seemed generally very happy.

"Tweek." The blonde looked up and froze like a deer in headlights. The cardboard box slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. Cartman lumbered forward and bent over him, breathing hard. "I need a favor." He whispered.

"Wh-what is it?"

A fat finger stroked his cheek. "I need you to follow Kyle around for the next month. Keep track of everyone he is with and take note of anyone he seems to know personally or keeps seeing."

"What's in it for me?"

Cartman laughs. "Sneaky blonde friend for my sneaky Jewish whore, how nice! All right here; if you do this for me, I give you a 300,000 dollar reward and let you go free."

Freedom?

Now that sounded interesting.

He just hoped Cartman kept his word. But what would happen to Kyle? A shiver went down his spine and he decided to ask the question later. ButTweek was feeling particularly bold and swallowed down his fear for another inquiry. "And if I don't?"

"Then you and I are going to have some alone time together until you decided you can."

Tweek vaulued his life so he remained silent. It turns out, Cartman didn't have to worry. There were no cougars or sneaky jack asses after his boy. There was only one and Tweek already knew his name

Stan Marsh.

Therefore, the only logical thing to do was confront Kyle and ask for details. He couldn't come to Cartman with bad details. He expected resistance, lies, but instead all he got was calm acceptance. "So," He mused, looking out the window, "Cartman finally put it all together; I'm tired of being his whore." He turned to Tweek. "Tweek, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I-"

"I didn't think so either. I hated Cartman when we first met. He was anti-Semitic and I was a Jew, he was Hitler and I was Moses, but I was attracted to him. Cartman had the school wrapped around his fat little finger and he had what I wanted. Power. Cartman could get me power. So we agreed to give a relationship a try. And I found myself falling for the asshole. He promised me the world on a silver platter and fed me dream after dream to lure me away. From school, from my friends, from my future. That asshole took away my life Tweek and I can't stay here any longer. But," he sighed, "I need your help. Will you do it?" Tweek gulped and shivered, trying to think but of course there was only one logical answer. No. But even Spock had acted illogically at times so Tweek would just have to suck it up.

"Okay."

So they began plotting and planning, although Kyle smiled and looked at him hopefully, Tweek knew the Jew didn't trust him. He knew Kyle wouldn't trust anyone until he was free. Tweek didn't mind, his job was to distract Cartman and smuggle letters, nothing more and nothing less. So when he woke up one morning to find his boss unconscious on the floor with scratch marks over his face and a lock of red hair in his fist, he wasn't surprised. The plan had gone off, not without a hitch but it had worked and Tweek was happy.

Two months later, a boy named Sugar arrived at the factory.


	5. Chapter 5

"_You have to help me."_

_The Worker looked up into the prostitute's eyes and squeaked. Blood flowed from Cinnamon's mouth, and as he spoke, the Worker could swear a few teeth had been knocked out. "What happened?"_

"_You have to help me." Cinnamon repeated, taking the blonde's hands in his own. The Worker struggled but didn't try to escape. "Please, please help me."_

"_I…I…I…" He met green, desperate eyes and melted. They were brimmed with tears and were half closed against the bruises starting to form. Cinnamon looked like he was about to break. "All right," he agreed. "I'll help you any way I can."_

_Cinnamon sniffed and for a moment, the Worker really thought he would shatter into a million pieces, but instead, he swept the blonde into a tight hug, sobbing his story into a pierced ear._

_-The Story of a Stripper Named Cinnamon. _

Quivery blue eyes look up at him. Delicate pink lips mouth frantic, bumbling words as his fingers twist around a stark white envelope. "I got it, Kyle." Tweek babbles, holding the letter out. "He almost caught me while I was walking back in. I think he's starting to suspect something. I'm not sure how much longer I can do this." Kyle lets out a strangled noise, half a cry but mostly a choking "Klleeeehch."

"Why?" He asks, taking Tweek's slim shoulders in his hands. The blonde looks at him fearfully. "Why?" Kyle demands again, fingers shaking as he resists the urge to shake him.

"I-I-I'm scared, Kyle." Tweek whispers quietly, about to cry from desperation. "I'm scared and I want to go home." He begins to sob. "I want to go home!" He wails. "I want to go hoooooooooooooooooome." Tweek keeps wailing the word over and over, stretching out the "O" until there is nothing but the sound of his voice. Kyle squeezes his eyes shut.

"Shut up." He whispers. "Shut up, shut up, _shut UP!" _

Tweek flies back as a pale, glitter covered hand smacks him across his face. The letter flies from his fingers and flutters to the floor. Kyle snatches it up greedily and rips the envelope open, eyes flying over the words like he needed them to survive.

Which, actually, he did.

The blonde stays on the floor, curling into the fetal position. "I want to go home." He mumbles into his clenched fist. "I want to go home. I want my mom. I want my bed. I want my house. I want my daddy."

"Tweek-"

"I don't care if he sold me!" The boy sobs. "I want my daddy! I want my momma!"

"Jesus Christ, boy, do you think the world cares what you want?" Kyle finally snaps. Tweek keeps babbling and the Jew presses his foot into Tweek's side, applying pressure until he finally quiets. "The world is a disgusting, evil place and it doesn't care what you want. There will always be Cartmans and people like your parents, selling people, _good_ people who haven't done anything except be born. There is nothing you can do about it but pick your balls off the floor and keep moving." He was on a roll now, the words pushing past a dam that he didn't remember building. Kyle had always been good at making speeches, and once you got him started he could talk for hours. "I'm not asking for you to shoot Cartman in the head, I just need you to intercept the mail for me and hide it until I come back." Kyle can feel ribs digging into his feet through his cheap boots and realizes what he's doing. Kyle stumbles back and lands hard on his ass, palms stinging as they scrape against the cool concrete. He can hear his heartbeat in his temples and closes his eyes. Tweek sits up and bows his head.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed are Thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb Jesus." He mumbles the words again and begins to trace shapes in the air with the tips of his fingers as if keeping track on a rosary. Kyle stands up silently and leaves the room. Tweek is on the third Hail Mary when the screaming begins but squeezes his eyes tighter and keeps going. On the fifth, there is crashing and on the seventh there is silence.

Tomorrow he will wake up and Kyle will be gone but right now he needs to finish his penance.

_Sugar is not adjusting well Tweek thinks sympathetically. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. The other blonde looks like he's dead most of the time now. Cartman had sold his precious book and Sugar had cried for hours that night, keeping Tweek up as well. Kyle would be able to fix this, he thinks desperately. I wish Kyle were here. But, then again, who cares what he wants? Taking a deep gulp of air, Tweek sits on the edge of Sugar's bed. The Mormon looks up at him suspiciously. "What do you want?" He questions through a mouthful of pillow. His tone is harsh but there is a lining of curiosity._

_Tweek leans against the wall and closes his eyes, swallowing hard. "Once upon a time," he says finally, "there was a boy named Cinnamon." Sugar sits up and gives him a weary look. "Cinnamon was by no means a bad person, but he liked power and he liked security. He was very, very beautiful and he knew it. One day, Cinnamon was offered a deal by a very bad man. In exchange for security and power, Cinnamon would have to go live with the bad man."_

"_What was the man's name?" Sugar asks quietly._

_Tweek's eyes dart from side to side as if Cartman would pop out of the shadows and knowing the fat bastard he just might. "Cartman." He whispers._

_Sugar's eyes widen. "Our Cartman?"_

"_Yes." He mumbles. "Do you want me to continue?"_

"_Yes!" Sugar exclaims, bouncing in his seat. "Of course!"_

"_Cinnamon went with Cartman. But Cartman didn't hold up his end of the bargain. They were poor and Cinnamon had to work for their food."_

"_What kind of work?"_

_Tweek stared steadily at Sugar and he gasped. "Cinnamon was a…a…what we are?"_

_He nods solemnly. "Yes. Cinnamon was miserable, he was tired and he was always hungry. The new worker his boyfriend had hired didn't help. The Worker was always squeaking and moved around like a little mouse. To him, the Worker was just another useless mouth to feed and Cartman still refused to give up his work place. Cartman loved his job, even if it meant his boyfriend and his worker would have to be whores." Tweek pretends not to notice Sugar's wince at the word. "Originally, Cartman made snack cakes, but no one wanted to buy them, so, to his pleasure, Cartman got to eat them. Every last single one."_

"_Is that why he's so fat?" Sugar asks, giggling like a school girl._

"_No, it's because he eats small children." Tweek responds, smiling. "He dips their dicks in ketchup and sucks them dry before shoving them up his fat ass."_

_They both laugh and squeal like little kids, making up dirty deeds for Cartman to do._

"_I bet he eats cat eyes."_

"_He goes to the park and asks homeless people to choke him."_

"_Cartman buys hookers just to scratch his ass."_

"_I hope he dies old and alone."_

"_I know he will, good guys finish last but bad people never get their happy endings." Tweek says seriously. "We'll get out of this, don't worry. All you have to do is hope."_

_Hope._

_The word tasted bitter and coated his mouth in ash. It felt like he was chewing Advil. Hope was a lie. Hope was a dream for people who could do nothing else. The world didn't care how you felt, Kyle had said. He shouldn't be hear comforting this kid. He should be in bed, sleeping. His heartstrings twisted at the thought and Tweek never felt weaker. He knew whatever happened would be his fault and it was his job to make sure this damn kid made it out of this alive. Kyle had done the same for him and he would be damned if he let this building (and Cartman) take one of HIS boys. "Thank you." Sugar mumbles. "Thank you." Tweek nods and stands up, about to leave._

"_No problem."_

"_Hey, Tweek?"_

"_Yeah?" He turns in the doorway. Sugar shoots him a pleading look. "What happens to Cinnamon?"_

_Tweek swallows hard._

_He escapes, he wants to say._

_He goes on living his merry life and leaves me in a whorehouse._

_After the little Worker risks his life for him, he leaves him to rot while he runs away with his lover._

_(In Cinderella, did they ever have to mention what happened to the mice and birds that helped the poor, beautiful girl?)_

"_He gets his happily ever after." The blonde says finally, smiling tightly. "Cinnamon gets his happy ending, he is the hero after all."_

"_And…and the Worker?" Sugar questions. "Did the worker get his happy ending?"_

_Tweek smiles and leaves the room. "Goodnight, Sugar."_


	6. Chapter 6

_The Worker snuck through the dusty halls, trying to be as quiet as possible. He replayed the message Stan had sent him over and over, memorizing. "Tell him the rose bridge at six." Tell Kyle the rose bridge at six, rose bridge at six, rose bridge at six. Exactly. Good. Yes. I got it. He thought, wringing his fingers. He presses against the wall and looks around the corner._

_Nothing. He slinks forward and keeps to the shadows. Rose bridge, six o'clock. Kyle was gone on his daily run. Tweek decided to wait for him. He opened the door and froze. "Hello, Kyle 2." Cartman greeted from where he was spread out on Cinnamon's bed. The fat pimp took a bite from his greasy snack cake. "Sit." He orders. "We have some things to discuss." _

"_What?" He squeaked, sitting as far away from Cartman as possible. A yellow toothed, butter filled smile was his answer. _

"_I want to know where he is."_

_He'll be at the rose bridge at precisely or approximately six o'clock. AM or PM to be discussed._

"_I don't know." _

"_That's a lie and we both know it." Cartman popped the last half of the deep fried pop-tart into his mouth and let out a soft choking noise before swallowing greedily. His eyes glittered with hatred. _

"_I'm not lying." _

"_Come closer, I won't bite." The blonde edges forward and looks at him warily. I know you won't bite, I'm more afraid you might eat me, he thinks. Cartman is not a two dimensional boogie man. He knows what he's doing. He has him curled in his meaty fist like a misbehaving child. "Now, you can tell me where he is or I can make you."_

_-The Story of a Stripper Named Cinnamon_

Tweek rolls his pantyhose up his legs and checks for runs before slipping on a pair of heels. The room is buzzing as the South Park cross dressers get ready. Sugar grits his teeth as he applies a layer of pink lipstick to his mouth. Cream looks at his friends curiously. His eyes are glazed with sleep and a stupid smile decorates his face. "You guys sure dress pretty. Think Cartman will let me go to the mall with you guys?" Pip snorts and stuffs his hat onto his head.

"You can take my place, mate."

"Really? You'd let me? I'll get dressed right now!" He stands up only to be pushed down by Tweek.

"No." he says sharply. "You stay here." He gives Pip a stern look. "Cartman would have our asses if something happened to you."

Sugar fluffs his hair and leaves the room, wiping his eyes angrily. Kenny leans in the doorway and smirks, eyeing Pip appreciatively. "Sexy little piece of biscuit." He teases.

"What did I say about taking my room?" Tweek asks angrily, shielding the Brit.

"Aw come on, Tweek, a guy can only stand rooming with other people for so long."

Tweek crosses his arms and taps his foot. "Angel. Leave, we need to get ready." Kenny's eyes harden at the use of his whore name and he sweeps out of the room. Tweek waits until the footsteps fade before slipping off his shirt. "Hey, Pip, can you pass me my jacket?" He asks.

Biscuit nods and takes the material from Butters. "When did you get your bellybutton pierced?"

"I'm not really sure." He mumbles, toying with the stud curiously. "I'll look into it."

"Why can't I come with you?" Butters asks loudly. "I'm just as grown up as the rest of you! I'm tired of being stuck here while you guys go out partying!"

"Partying? Is that what Cartman's been telling you we do? That's rich!" Pip laughs angrily. "Really, you really are too stupid to figure out what's really going on?" He pushes past Tweek and storms out, the scent of lilies following him.

"I'm not stupid." Butters says, eyes wide. "What's going on? Vanilla?" Tweek swallows hard. Cream's bottom lip quivers in sadness. "Nilla?"

"I have to go, have a nice day." Tweek says dully, pulling on his jacket over his satin shirt. The smooth material of his skirt swishes against his thighs and for a second he is almost buried under the smell of perfume.

Lilies, pomegranates, apples and vanilla.

Disgusting.

Tweek breathes through his mouth and leaves as fast as he can. Rose calls to him from her room. "Nilla! Help me with my zipper!" She smells like cotton and fresh clothes. His hands shake as he runs his hand up her smooth back. "You working street-wise or staying in Park?" She asks, letting her hair fall down in a luscious wave. He stares at the swirling pattern of her butterfly tattoo. It's done right above her left shoulder blade, peeking out over the deep green of her dress. He swallows again and clears his throat.

"Street-wise."

"Lucky. My ass always feels like a pincushion after my shift."

"Poor you."

"Yeah."

"Wait. Isn't Flame supposed to be working today? I remember hearing her complaining about it." He doesn't notice his hands keep tracing the left wing of her butterfly. She shivers.

"No. It's my shift."

"No, I remember before I left yesterday. She seemed really upset. Did you trade shifts? I don't care, really, just curious. It's not like I'd tell Cartman. Is Flame okay?" Rose clenches her fist and hefts her chest upwards before crossing her arms and breaking away from Vanilla's grasp. She misses the strong warmth on her back. "Rose?"

"Can you keep a secret?" She wonders out loud. This is Vanilla, sweeter than his namesake and always willing to listen. She can feel Powder's secret pushing against her insides, about to burst out.

"You'd be surprised at how many secrets I know." Tweek says truthfully.

Rose leans forward and cups her hand over Tweek's ear. "Flame asked me to take her shift because she has a doctor's appointment."

"Is she okay?" He gasps.

"She…she might be pregnant."

And the world comes tumbling down around Tweek.

He can't leave now. He can't leave Flame alone with her baby. He can't let a kid grow up surrounded by prostitutes and Cartman! Who knows how fucked-up it would come out! "Are you sure?" He asks lowly.

Rose nods. "She took a pregnancy test. It was positive. She's going in today to make sure."

"I won't tell." Tweek feels hollow. "I have to go now otherwise Cartman's going to be on my ass for the rest of the week." Rose nods and together they walk downstairs. Sugar and Biscuit are wiping down the table. Tweek smiles at them, smoothing out his skirt before walking away.

"Flip the sign on your way out!" Biscuit calls. The black slip of paper on the door currently reads CLOSED. Tweek sighs and turns it to OPEN. He hates the morning run; it always seems so humiliating, being seen in the day time. As he's walking, a car pulls up. The man behind the wheel is good-looking and well-built.

"Hi." He says smoothly. "Need a ride?"

"That depends where you're going." Tweek answers.

"I'm going to the mile-high club. Join me?"

Jason Martin never thought he'd every hire a prostitute but his boyfriend's gone and he is not going down alone. He needs someone to be miserable with him and if it's going to be this whore then why the fuck not? He opens the door and Tweek climbs in. One hour, one hundred dollars later, he's leaving the car. Jason keeps the silly grin on his face before he bursts out in hysterical laughter. He's done it. He did it.

But it doesn't change anything.

Another life ruined because of him. Should he call the prostitute back and warn him? Could he go to jail for what he did? He hired a prostitute and knowingly tried to pass along the HIV virus. Jason was pretty sure prostitutes don't get health insurance. He stares at the boy's retreating back. Red claw marks are visible, creeping out of his shirt. Jason sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He resists the urge to cry out when clumps of it come out in-between his fingers. He feels satisfied and empty. The boy was good, so, so good. It's been so long he didn't last long. Semen decorates his steering wheel and shoes.

Now he's alone again.

No one warned him that this was going to happen. All he had wanted was to show his boyfriend he loved him, he didn't expect to be diagnosed with AIDS. Now someone would finally find out what it was like to be him. Beginning to cry, he shifted into reverse and disappeared within the New York traffic.


	7. Chapter 7

_Cinnamon walked confidently down the hallway, twisting the silver ring in his palm. It's warm now, but still wonderfully nice to hold. His meeting with Stan went well and he holds back a squeal of delight. He calls out for the worker and is responded with silence. Immediately, he knows something is wrong. He slides the ring onto his finger and walks slower. His happiness evaporates with each echoing step until he comes to his room. Cinnamon stares at the door. He's not sure if he wants to open it. _

_He does it anyway._

"_Hello, Cinnamon, looking lovely as ever." Cartman purrs. The prostitute's eyes are glued to the unconscious blonde lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Tape covers his eyes and his cheeks are covered in mud. Cinnamon almost vomits as the worker gives a twitch of pain. "Take a seat, quick, if you please."_

_Shivering, he complies, feeling the ring slipping from his hand to clatter on the dusty floor. Cinnamon watches as Cartman's eyes follow its descent before he rushes forward, pushing the large man to the floor as he screams bloody murder. _

_-The Story of a Stripper Named Cinnamon_

When Tweek walked through the door, he was tackled by all 160 pounds of Craig Tucker. Hot, messy kisses are pressed to his face as he is squeezed. "I love you." The man mumbles against his cheek. "I love you, I love you, you stupid, spazzy, prideful idiot." Tweek wriggles in the hold only to be hugged tighter.

"Can't breathe." He gasps. "Craig! Stop!"

"Hm?" The man snuggles into the crook of his neck. "What?"

"Air!"

Craig stands up and spins him around, laughing. "We don't need air; we have love, Tweeky, love!"

He presses a kiss to his head and inhales his scent before dropping him in shock. Tweek lands hard on the floor and rubs his stinging arms. Craig's nose is wrinkled and he stares down at the blonde with narrowed eyes. Tweek's lips are swollen and red, with faint bite marks down his neck. He smells like sweat and sex. "Craig?"

"You were with someone before you came here."

Tweek swallows. This confrontation was bound to happen someday. "Yes."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"Did you at least use protection?" Tweek makes a noise in the back of his throat and the surprised, frightened look is enough of an answer for him. "Do you know how dangerous that is?" He yells. "You don't know if that guy was infected, or if he was some kind of psycho! He could have done something to you, Tweek, he could have raped you, or given you AIDS!"

"Okay, one, the only way to rape a prostitute is not giving them money afterwards and second, you don't catch AIDS. You get HIV and it progresses into AIDS if you don't get treatment for it. And even then it takes years." Craig's eye twitches.

"I love you Tweek but sometimes I feel like it would be better if I bashed your head into a coma and kept you in my basement."

"Am I interrupting something here?" Kyle asks awkwardly from the doorway. "Because I can just come back later, you know."

"Not now, Kyle." Tweek snaps. The Jew waits, counting on his fingers. "Wait. Holy shit. Kyle!"

"There we go." The ex-prostitute laughs as he's pushed to the floor by an overexcited Tweek. He stops laughing when instead of being hugged; a fist smashes into his cheek.

"You bastard!" Tweek screams. "How dare you!"

"Tweek! Urk! Jesus, get the fuck off me! That hurts!"

"That's what she said!" The blonde screams furiously, driving his nails into Kyle's ear and twisting. "I am going to kill you!" Craig wraps his arms around Tweek's waist and tries to yank him away. "Lay off, Tucker! I'm about to make the Holocaust look like a children's birthday party!" Craig tosses the struggling blonde over his shoulder and walks into the other room, dropping him on the bed and locking the door behind him.

"There's booze in the fridge, Kyle! We'll be out in a minute!"

"Okay!" Kyle struggles up off the floor and looks around the apartment. He sighs. Well, this is going smashingly…

"Now. We're going to do this one of two ways. One, you tell me what I want to know or," he sits down on the bed and wraps an arm around Tweek in a vice grip. "I go outside, we send Kyle away and pretend nothing ever happened."

"Send him away."

"You've been writing letters for years, the one day he shows up, you go bat-shit. Care to tell me why?"

"No."

"Tweek."

"No.

"Tweek."

"Fine. It's not fair."

"What's not fair?"

"It. Life. My situation. Did you know Flame's having a baby?"

"Who's Flame?"

"A friend of mine. She might be pregnant. Kyle, you can come in, I promise not to hurt you." The Jew walked in, sipping wine from a mug with the Beatles done on the side and ABBEY ROAD written in rainbow letters around the brim. "Yet." he adds when Kyle is close enough for him to drag down into the bed.

"Flame's knocked up?" He asks, pale as snow.

"Yeah, she might be. I talked to Rose before I left; she's going to a doctor today."

Kyle collapses on the bed and chugs the rest of his beverage, wiping his mouth. "We're fucked." He whispers. "Fucked to god-damned kingdom come."

"Yup." Craig notices that Tweek's hand clamps over his tightly, as if he's afraid. "What are we going to do?"

"Cartman doesn't let his bitches carry kids. If he finds out, Flame's going to get an abortion, even if Cartman has to knock her out and drag her there." Kyle says woodenly.

"Flame's going to be crushed."

"Why can't she leave?" Craig asks angrily. "Why can't all of you leave? What's one man going to do?"

"He'll find us, Craig. He might not find all of us but he'll find enough of us to reopen and then he'll make us tell him where the others' are."

"What could he do?" Tweek looks Craig straight in the eye.

"I don't know. You can never know with Cartman. He's not right, Craig,"

"Well, Flame can come live with me."

"Craig, okay, I love you, but you have to stop offering to house prostitutes. People are going to think something's up with you." Tweek deadpans.

"I'm serious. She can stay here until she has the baby. Then she can do whatever she wants to do after that. If she wants to stay, let her. If she doesn't, I'll keep the baby."

"Craig," Kyle says, "I don't think you understand what you're going up against. Cartman is a-"

"I think it's a great idea." Tweek cut in. "Think of it, Flame has no idea who Craig is, she's never mentioned him, no one except you and I know about him. Cartman would never figure it out."

"We're not asking for your permission," Craig adds, "we're doing this either way, your approval or not, but it would really mean a lot if you agreed to do this."

Kyle looks from his friend, who almost pierced his ears with his sharp ass nails to the man who had tried to beat him over the head with a chair because he thought he was Cartman coming for Tweek. He sighs and smiles. "I'll call Stan and tell him I'm staying a little longer." This time, Tweek meant no harm when he tackled the Jew.

**NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW;**

Flame gasped in surprise as a hand clamps over her mouth and drags her into the alleyway. She tries to scream as she stares into the eyes of the man. He is tall with dark hair and a regal way of holding himself. "I mean you no harm." He whispers in her ear. "I need to find someone named Pip. Can you help me? Please?" She struggles out of his hold and almost runs. He doesn't look like a bad person. He looks worried and lonely. She gnaws on her lip before taking a rough tanned hand in hers. He dwarfs her and she walks in his shadow as she leads him away.

"Follow me."


	8. Chapter 8

_Cinnamon gets in a few good punches before he's thrown off. Cartman, even with a broken nose and a quickly swelling eye, still outweighs him by at least a hundred pounds. The Pimp-to-be wipes hismouth and spits onto the floor, moving closer. Cinnamon kicks off his heels and slides against the wall towards a pale green vanity, picking up the nearest thing he can grasp before tossing it as his head. The glass bottle of Coca-Cola flies by Cartman and crashes into the wall just above the worker's head. His eyes remain closed and he remains unconscious. _

_"Get back here, faggot." The fatass hisses, trying to corner snorts up a lungful of blood up and hacks it into a corner. "I'm not done yet."_

"_Kiss my ass, Cartman."Cinnamon hisses, smashing a perfume bottle against the wall. He holds up a jagged edge. "Don't make me cut a bitch."_

"_Do it. I dare you. You were always too weak to do anything for yourself. Today's a good day to learn how to be independent, hmm, Jew? And what better way than shanking your boyfriend!"_

"_This is all your fault! Don't you dare blame me!"He makes a wide ark with his makeshift weapon, daring Cartman to come closer._

"_This wouldn't be happening if you weren't such a __**whore**__!"_

"_You lied to me all this time just because you were too lazy to get a job! I became a prostitute for you!"_

_Cartman takes a step forward, eyes locked on the shard of glass. The worker's eyes open and he sits up slowly. He's facing Cartman's rather large back; Cinnamon's scared face in plain view. His hand, fingers broken and twisted, curl around the bottle neck. He drops to his stomach and crawls forward, ignoring the pain. He grips it tighter and shoves it as far as it will go into Cartman's calve. _

_-The Story of a Stripper Named Cinnamon_

Flame wipes her eyes and reapplies her mascara. Her face is flushed and twisted in the smooth mirror. She drops the tube into her purse and sighs, hands sliding down to cup her stomach. Already, she can feel the small bump. She lifts her shirt and pets the smooth skin, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face. "Hey, baby," she whispers, "It's your mommy. Cozy in there? I hope so." A few weeks along, everything's going great, that's what the doctor had said. A chance of twins if the size is a factor. For a second she bounces on her heels and squeals into her palms. She's going to be a mother! Flame collects herself and walks out of the bathroom, still protectively cradling her baby bump. A woman holding a squirming toddler smiles at her. Flame, better known to her parents as Powder, walks down the street, smiling. She wonders what she's going to name it. No matter what, she decides, she will name it something spectacular. No boring child names for her baby(ies). Lord knows they have enough Veronicas. Winona sounds nice. Or Prudence! She could play the Beatles every night before she went to bed.

The woman stops outside South Park and tries to collect herself before taking a step forward. Flame gasped in surprise as a hand clamps over her mouth and drags her into the alleyway. She tries to scream as she stares into the eyes of the man. He is tall with dark hair and a regal way of holding himself. "I mean you no harm." He whispers in her ear. "I need to find someone named Pip. Can you help me? Please?" She struggles out of his hold and almost runs. He doesn't look like a bad person. He looks worried and lonely. She gnaws on her lip before taking a rough tanned hand in hers. He dwarfs her and she walks in his shadow as she leads him away.

"Follow me." They head in through the backdoor. Cartman is always on the floor, supervising during rush hour. Pip's shift ended a few minutes ago if the clock is right. He should be up in his room, resting. The man looks around and holds back the urge to vomit onto the greased floor. He is led up a rickety staircase and down a twisting hallway to stop outside a room with a pink door. Silently, he hands her a twenty and slips inside. Pip, his Pip, has his face buried in a Hello Kitty blanket, snoring quietly. He lies down next to him and cuddles him close. Pip begins to stir. He rolls over to look at him and almost falls out of the bed. He sits up and launches back down in a wave, hugging him tight enough to crack his joints.

"Christophe," He gasps, "what are you doing here?" The French boy shrugs and hugs his friend.

"I came to bust you out. Why the hell would I be here for any other reazon?"

"But what about Damien?"

Christophe's mouth turns up into a sneer. "Haven't you figured it out, Pip? Damien's not coming."

"He promised he would!"

"He promised me he had already gotten you. He said you had been living in his house for a year already. I go over to visit you and find that not only has he lied, he's married."

Pip shrinks back from the angry tone. "You're lying…you're lying."

"He married a Ms. Estella. A little brat on the way. I seem to recall Damien convincing you not to date her days before you left. Face it, Pip. Damien tricked you. He stole your girlfriend for himself and convinced you to join a whorehouse."

"He didn't know…"

"South Park has a website. Damien knew all along. He played you, Pip."

"He told me he loved me."

"When you left, Damien got everything. The house, the car, your funds. He crashed the car, the house burned down and he used up your life's savings on his wedding. There's nothing left for you, Pip."

"But…"

"I came here to take you away. You can either go with me willingly or I knock you unconscious and drag you out."

Pip curls into the mattress, eyes wide with shock. Christophe sighs and picks him up. He tosses him to the floor and sets to flipping the bed over, smashing the glass of the vanity with a bottle he uses a shard to cut Pip's arm and squeezes the blood onto the floor. He smashes through the window with a chair. The Brit struggles to his feet as the French boy tries to lift him over his shoulder. They slip down the building and onto the street unnoticed by the people inside. Pip clutches his wound, biting back a scream of pain. Christophe had cut him with a perfume bottle and it fucking _stung._ "If my blood starts to smell like Vanilla Fantasy, I'm going to kill you." He growls. "It hurts!"

"I'll kiss it better when we get out of this town. Now, _move._"


	9. Chapter 9

"_He loves you, you know." Craig looks up, into the eyes of Kyle, the man he almost killed. A part of him is still suspicious, wondering if he's the infamous Cartman, but Tweek always said he was fat, and the ginger in front of him is thin as anyone else. "Tweek," Kyle clarifies after a second thought, "he loves you. In his own way. If he didn't, he wouldn't be coming." Craig shrugs, eyes rolling to the side to look out the window. People crowd the streets, insignificant, yet so sure of themselves, that they belonged. Was Tweek in that crowd? Waiting at the foot of the building, trying to decide to come in? Or was he being swept along like yesterday's garbage, unable to break free from the city's grasp?_

_Okay, he thinks dryly, no more day-time television. It's seriously fucking up what little sanity you have left. "Yeah," He says offhandedly, "I love him too."_

"_I've never seen him this happy, actually," Kyle muses, "If what you're telling me is right. I'm glad he found someone to take care of him. Lord knows his sorry ass needs it." Craig smiles at Kyle. Something's bubbling up in him, hope, maybe? It's sickly sweet and makes him want to puke rainbows over orphan puppies. He resists by downing a shot of something-with-vodka. Orange juice, probably. _

_Probably just sugared gin though._

_Just because he was rich didn't mean he needed to be classy. Booze was booze, whether it was served in crystal glasses or paper cups. He tosses the glass aside side and grabs the bottle by the neck, tossing back a mouthful. Kyle watches him, fascinated. He loved Stan, really he did, but the man was a lightweight, and it was strangely compelling to watch someone get drunk off more than a bottle of Miller Lite. Craig licks his lips as a familiar shock of blonde hair appears in the crowd. He takes three more shots before Kyle is able to wrench the bottle away. Craig grins stupidly, feeling liquid courage sludge through his veins. He could do this, he could totally do this! The Jew follows his eyes and suddenly begins chugging the vodka, backing away. _

"_Oh shit." He mumbles, liquor dribbling from his lips. "I gotta go…tell Tweek something nice about me when he gets here! I'm gonna…Gonnna…I'm going to…to…to get less wasted…" Kyle stumbles into another room, leaving Craig all alone. The dark-haired man tries to shake himself out of his drunken stupor, wobbling up off the couch to his feet. He picks up the shot glass and sways over to the sink, dropping it in. The door opens and suddenly the air disappears, swirling towards a certain blonde. He can't help the smile and drunken scream that spurts from his lips as he lunges forward._

"_Tweeky!"_

-One day, two hours before _Operation Prostitute Rescue_ commences.

(Chapter 7 deleted scene)

_**CHAPTER EIGHT. **_

Flame is ridiculously easy to lure out. Kyle, with a hat crammed over his head to hide his hair, picks her up in Craig's spare car. Cartman gives them suspicious glares until he hands over eighty bucks in advance, leading her away by the arm. He can't help the shiver of fear that washes over him when he sees the lock of red hair tied to his cane. Kyle rubs his head furiously once they're in the car, trying to wash away the ghost of his touch.

The drive is short and awkward, Flame casually propping her leg on her other knee to show large flashes of thigh. Kyle simply looks away and continues to blush. It takes a while, too long perhaps, for a certain Jew, but they stop outside Craig's apartment, safe and undetected. Powder blinks as she's dragged closer to the walls by a pale arm, but simply chooses to ignore it. Kyle slips the security guard fifty bucks, per Craig's instructions, and she deletes the video of them coming in. Flame grows suspicious when he locks the door behind them, leaving her in the middle of the room. "What is this?" Kyle smiles and peels off his hat, fluffing his hair.

"This is _Operation Prostitute Rescue_." A voice says from behind her. She turns around to face Tweek. He smiles at her gently, holding out his arms for a hug. Flame ignores him.

"What you talking 'bout, Nilla?" He looks disappointed.

"Hug?"

"No hug."

"I think you should hug him." Kyle buts in. "I mean we are saving you. I think a hug is in order."

She gives him a withering look. "I'm not bloody hugging him!"

"Huuug…"

"Shut up!" She screams, only to be tangled up in an embrace.

"So," Tweek drawls into her shoulder. "When are you due?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He palms her small baby bump and she jumps away, hands flying to her stomach. Tweek grins lazily.

"Say again?"

"How did you figure it out?" She demands. Kyle rests on the couch, stretched out like Cleopatra, watching them with an amused Cheshire grin. Tweek shrugs.

"Don't worry, no one else knows. Rose told me. How did you hide your morning sickness from Cartman and the others?"

"I pretended I ate something from the buffet by mistake."

"You know Cartman spikes everything with Viagra, right?" Tweek asks. Kyle blanches.

"That's disgusting!"

"Well, you don't want to think about the eggrolls then." Flame responds. "He puts-"

"I don't want to know about the damn eggrolls!" He covers his ears. "Lalalalalala…!"

"Eggrolls?" Craig questions tiredly, walking into the room. He winces at the brightness, looking hung-over. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Tweek waves him away, even as a tan arm wraps around his waist and tugs him close. Craig rests his chin on his head, trying to stay steady. "Powder, meet your new roommate." Craig waves, wriggling his fingers in a childish wave. He yawns.

"What?"

"You know that baby is not safe with Cartman lurking around and like hell I'm going to let my goddaughter be born in a whorehouse!" She looks surprised.

"Goddaughter…?"

"Of course," he scoffs. "My little Tweek Jr. will not be growing up in a broken home. She shall grow up surrounded by love and laughter and puppies." Kyle coughs, reminding the blonde of his presence as Tweek drifts off into a daydream. He snaps back to attention. "Oh! Of course, Powder, meet Kyle Broflovski, better known as a stripper called Cinnamon." Kyle sticks out his hand and flutters his eyelashes.

"Always lovely to meet a fan. Charmed, Madam, my pleasure entirely."

Powder sizes him up, even as she shakes his hand. Long legs, dark green eyes and, of course, ginger red hair that curled and twisted like a badly rolled ball of yarn. He's not what she expected. Cinnamon had always seemed strange to her, like a nurse at a mental ward, people who has seen too much, not enough to hate their patients, but too much to care. But he seems sane. Haunted, but sane. And a bit thin with toothpick arms. Kyle's eyes are strangely blank, with a slick shiny glint, she thinks. It's pretty. "Pleasure." She responds once a good few minutes have passed.

He kisses her knuckles and squeezes her hand, smiling. "Chill," he advises, looking into her eyes. "We're here to help you. Cartman will not get to your baby while I'm still breathing."

Tweek breaks away from the arm. "I have to get back." He says suddenly, staring at the clock hanging on the wall. "Cartman's going to start wondering where you and I are and piece it together." He slips out of the room quietly, stopping only to rub her belly for luck. Kyle sits up and tugs her onto the couch. He plays mindlessly with her fingers, picking at the nail-polish.

"I don't understand him." He sighs. "It's possible for him to leave, just to disappear and Cartman would never find him, why doesn't he?"

"Because he's afraid." Craig replies. "He's afraid of what would happen to him and the others if he's not there. It's not horrible right now; he can live with his situation because he knows it could get much worse."

"Or he's just an idiot." Kyle says bluntly.

"That too."

She snorts. "Lovely."

"I'm going to bed." Kyle mumbles, standing. "This conversation has seriously bummed me out."

Craig rolls his eyes. "Fine. It's late anyway. Come with me." He leads her to a large room in the back, complete with silken sheets and feather-filled pillows on a king-sized bed. "I'll be in the living room if you need me." Hours later, he wakes up with a start. Crashing noises emit from the kitchen. Craig scrambles up and snatches a gun from its cupboard, making his way into the kitchen. "Wait. Flame? Powder? What the hell are you doing?" Her shoulders shake. She makes a low moaning noise and swirls her arms in the air, motioning around the room. Horror fills him as he eyes the chaos. Empty jars of food are spilled over the used-to-be pristine floor. Water runs in the sink, overflowing. A pickle rotates gently in the microwave, bubbling with something that could be marshmallow. "Ma'am-"

Powder turns to him eyes blazing, a hand raise, clutching a vase, ready to smash it into pieces as she spits, "You're out of fucking ice cream!"


	10. Chapter 10

**AN; written during a SP marathon with Soul Asylum in the background. So pardon the possible twistedness.**

_He screams. The worker pulls himself up and slings his arms over Cartman's shoulders, bringing him down with his dead weight. Cinnamon lunges forward, swinging the bottle in the air furiously. The worker sobs as he clings to the large back, short, fat arms clawing and pulling at his hair. The larger rolls onto his back, trying to suffocate the screaming blonde. The ginger haired man shoves the broken bottle down a swollen stomach and pushes. The Worker scrambles from underneath his captor and crawls away, gasping for air. _

_Cinnamon and Cartman wrestle on the floor while the worker sobs helplessly, covering his eyes. "What are you waiting for?" Cinnamon yells. "You idiot! Run!" _

"_Move and I'll kill you next!" Cartman screams, tugging hard on a lock of ginger-red hair. It comes off in his hand and Cinnamon shrieks in pain before he is able to land a knee in his boyfriend's crotch. Cartman rolls to the side, clutching between his legs. Cinnamon grabs the Worker's hand like a flash of lightening and hugs him close, kissing both his cheeks before pushing him to the floor and running. Through the tears in his eyes, the worker can see the forgotten ring glinting gently on the floor. He picks it up with trembling hands and, while his boss howls in pain and anger, stuffs it into his sock. _

_-The Story of a Stripper Named Cinnamon. _

In that one moment, Craig forgets his manly pride. "I'm sorry." He squeals. "I'll go get some more, just wait here-"

"I'm coming with you!"

"Or come with me." He turns with his metaphorical tale between his quivering legs when a hand clamps over his shoulder, perfectly manicured nails digging into his skin.

"Craig…" She's constantly making some strange noise, a humming "kolkolkol" over and over. "Carry me."

"Yes ma'am." She not that heavy, he thinks, relieved, but the constant shifting makes it a bit awkward to hold her. She wriggles in his arms, one hand clenching and unclenching on his shoulder, a constant reminder that his life may or may not end by the hands of a heavily pregnant woman.

Craig, rich as he is, does not own an easily accessible car. It is New York city, for Christ's sake, where the hell would he store it in an apartment block? He gets a few strange looks carrying a pissed off looking woman down the streets at 3:00 clock at night, but that's just the tourists. The born and bred have seen much stranger.

Craig almost cries with joy when he sees the flashing neon sign of the 7/11, ignoring the raised eyebrow the cashier gives him as he cowers near the drink.

Flame, with no apparent reason, (she's not _that_ big yet) waddles up and down the aisles, hawk-like eyes narrowed and shiny like 007 on a mission. Within ten minutes, she clutches a carton of Bluebell brand ice cream, gummy sharks, a Heath bar, a jumbo bag of Takis, and a bottle of Hawaiian Punch, with a pack of ramen clutched between her teeth.

"O'ay." She grunts. "'E ca' go."

She's pushing her luck, she knows. If she was ask Cartman for anything, hell, _talk _to him in that tone, she'd be smacked so hard she might go into labor in that very spot. But right now she wasn't with Cartman, was she? Flame had a chance to be spoiled and hot damn she was going to take it. She refuses to unhand her snacks, so the pimply, tattoo covered teen leans over the counter with the little machine and scans them, eyes focused on her breasts. Craig slams his head into the counter with an oversized Charlie Sheen pez dispenser before picking her up and leaving the store.

She eats the ramen straight out of the packet, teeth grinding away happily at the uncooked noodles before pouring the chicken spice into the palm of her hand and licking away happily. "Want some?" She asks, wrenching open the top to her ice cream. Craig gags as the two are mixed together, along with a few stray sharks before she digs in, spooning out the ice cream with chunks of the Heath bar. The doorman snickers as he opens the door, mouthing something that sounds curiously like "whipped" under his breath.

In the elevator, Flame decides it's a good time to go back to sleep, head lolling against his neck as she protectively cradles her empty tub. She's kind of cute when she's not screaming or stuffing her face, like a little German shephard, Craig thinks fondly, ruffling her hair. All those thoughts fly out the window when he gets a glimpse of the trashed kitchen. He forgot to take the pickle out before he left, and it apparently exploded, the door of the microwave covered in a dark green goop, the smell terrible enough to make him dry heave. A dish previously filled with what looks like sliced apples and onions covered in whipped cream has tipped over the granite counter, smashed onto the floor.

Flame smiles sweetly in her sleep and makes a soft purring noise, hugging her tub tight enough that Rocky Road-Heath-Ramen-Shark leaks out the sealed top. "Manipulative bitch." He says affectionately, setting her down gently on his bed. His hand brushes under a metal container and, frowning, pulls it out gently from underneath her pillow. Was that…? His jaw drops.

He could have sworn that can of whipped cream was full when he left this morning.

"God I never knew it was possible for one person to eat this much." He says disbelievingly, pulling the sheets over her curled body. He reaches for the tub of ice cream and pulls. She doesn't let go. Craig frowns and shifts his position from kneeling on his knees to squatting, trying to get more purchase as he pulls. Flame scowls and holds on tighter. "And you're so tiny, too/"

"Nooo." She whines. "Mine."

"You have to sleep." He says sternly. "You can have more ice cream when you wake up."

"But I want it now," She bitches, pulling hard. Craig sighs. And his parents wonder why he swings the other way when this is what you have to put up with when you're dating a woman.

"It's time for you to sleep." He says as patiently as he can. "I promise to get you whatever you want to eat in the morning." Her grip loosens. Not much, but enough for him to be able to grasp it firmly.

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Swear?"She's slurring with sleep now, eyes closed.

"Swear."

Flame holds out her pinkie. He grasps it in his own and squeezes gently. "M'kay." She lets the carton fall from her grasp and Craig scrambles to catch it, fearing for his silk sheets. He breathes a sigh of relief and leaves the room. Carefully stepping over rotting foodstuffs and broken glass, Craig places the ice cream in the freezer, feeling even more shocked when he notices it is completely empty save for a vodka bottle now filled with a strange substance that floats on top.

_Why would she even put that there,_ he wonders.

_FLASHBACK…_

"_Stupid bastard." She growls, staring at the bottle. "How dare you be bad for fetuses, I hate you, you stupid bastard!" She grabs an almost empty can of whipped cream and shakes it. She squirts the remainder down the top until all that comes out is a strange "fffffftttttttt" noise. She takes a swig of Kool-Aid and spits into the bottle for good measure. Carefully, she replaces the bottle in the freezer, smirking to herself before looking around the shelves. Her heart stops._

_No…ice cream?_

_She can't stop the scream of anger that escapes her as she grabs a plate and hurls it at the wall._

_END FLASHBACK._

"Craig…" Flame moans. "It's too cold. I need my heat-blanket."

"It's in the other room and I don't feel like looking for it." He calls. "I'll just turn up the heater."

"Noooo!" She wails. "I want my heatpad."

"Flame, ma'am, I just-"

"No, Craig!"

"Please, I promise-"

A noise that sounds surprisingly like crying comes from her room and he panics, searching through the oversized closet before yanking out a ratty blue electric blanket from a box Tweek had brought over earlier. "Wait! Stop! Here, I found it! Please don't cry!" He plugs it in with shaking hands as Flame clutches the scratchy wool with large, tearful eyes. She sniffs and nods, burying her face, a soft smile on her face. Was that all it took to make her happy? A god-damn heat pad? He sighs and again turns to leave the room.

"Craig…"

The man closes his eyes in frustration. _If she's going to ask to dig out the VCR and a copy of Titanic I swear I'm going to lose it, _Craig thinks angrily. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Thank you." She whispers. He freezes before a slow smile spreads across his face.

"You're welcome, ma'am." He closes the door gently behind him and Flame sleeps to the hum of an electric blanket and the sound of rushing water.


	11. Chapter 11

_Pip turns over and stretches out, sighing in content. His bed is soft and the thick woolen blankets guard against the chill of early morning. Pip brushes a lock of newly dyed brown hair behind his ear. True to his word, Christophe had successfully smuggled him out of the country and for now they rested in a little chateau in the French country side, next to a sprawling vineyard that they were to visit later this week before heading to England, where Pip hoped to stay for many, many years. _

_Christophe grunts, still half asleep and rolls over, spooning the Englishmen. His stubble scratches his face rather unpleasantly and he reeks of sex and morning breath but Pip rolls his eyes and smiles fondly, intertwining their legs before closing his eyes. He's far too happy to sleep now and his Chris won't wake up for another hour at the very least, but for now, he is overjoyed at the simple pleasure of warmth and sun and the utter safety he feels wrapped in the other's arms. So, he'll doze and dream and hope the others are doing half as well as he is. _

The chair smashes against the wall. Cartman roars in anger. "Now does anyone want to tell me where the hell Biscuit and Flame are?" The gathered prostitutes flinch back, looking frightened. Butters is on the brink of tears, not used to hearing his role model yell at him. Tweek tugs on a lock of his hair. He's slightly worried about Biscuit and hopes with all his heart the Brit hasn't done something stupid. Sugar sobs lightly, crushed at the disappearance of his best friend. Tweek squeezes his hand reassuringly.

_It's going to be okay, _he wants to say, _we're going to be just fine._

As fine as anyone can be in this hellhole.

Angel is sent flying with a well placed kick, crashing against the rough wooden floors. The blonde spits out blood and staggers to feet. Cartman treats him worse than anyone there because no matter what happens, Angel will not die. He can get hurt, but a day or two later he'll be back on his feet good as new. Kenny staggers up and wheezes, clutching at his ribs.

"Good kick, fat ass." He taunts. "Make you feel any better that you lost two of your most valuable workers? What kind of pimp can't even control his own-" _SLAP. _There is a sickening crack of bone and Angel does not get up again.

Cartman paces, hands clenched behind his back. "With Biscuit and Flame gone, we're going to need to pick up the slack. Butters, tomorrow morning you head out with Diamonds and Blaze Starr." Butters brightens slightly.

"You mean I get to wear pretty clothes and go out with the others?" Cartman nods and the blonde squeals in happiness, wrapping his thin arms around his boyfriend's neck, planting a wet kiss on his chubby cheek. "Thank you, thank you!" The others look at him with varying degrees of disgust and pity. Blaze Starr and Diamonds are old timers, they're heartless bitches and Tweek has no doubt in his mind they'll work Butters like a pack mule.

"All of you get to bed!" Cartman barks."I don't want to see your faces for the rest of the night." He and Butters walk away, the later giggling like a school girl.

"That poor bastard." Tweek murmurs.

"Heh." Blaze Starr shrugs underneath her faux fur coat. "We've been dealing with it for years, it's about time that kid started pulling his weight around here."

Diamonds nods in agreement. "We'll show him the ropes, that's all. I can't be lugging a virgin around all night." The crowd disperses, Angel carried off by a group of do-gooders. Tweek and Sugar sit on the mattress of their room, looking around awkwardly. Every bit of broken glass, the puddles of perfume and the splatter of blood sends Sugar into hysterics, hiccupping against Tweek's shoulder. A thick quilt has been wrapped in a clean towel and left on the tipped over vanity, probably from some especially maternal girl. The older breaks away and wraps them both in it, smelling flowery scented perfume and sighing at the warmth it brings.

Sugar snuggles into his friend and sniffs. "He's okay, isn't he?"

"Of course he is." Tweek says sleepily. "Biscuit is a tough little guy, I'm sure he's fine."

"Do you think, maybe…?" He whispers the last part into the pillows. "Do you think he found his Stan?"

"You know, Sugar, I'm sure he did."They drift off to sleep, completely at peace.

The morning is rushed and tense. Tweek, having looked forward to sneaking off to visit Craig, Flame, and Kyle, is stuck with the day shift. Butters cries in the middle of the hallway, looking a mess with makeup smeared over his face and clothes buttoned crookedly.

Tweek helps him with the foundation and eye shadow before applying mascara with an expert hand. Sugar helps button his shirt and tugs on his garter to straighten it. The innocent blonde toddles away in his high heels, following Blaze and Diamonds like a lost puppy. Tweek sends him a quick prayer before he walks downstairs.

South Park is open all day, unlike most strip clubs and their morning clientele consists mostly of hung-over business men who are forced to pay upfront so it's an easy workload, basically just carting drinks around and charging a dollar for every slap of the ass he gets. As it gets darker, the beat of the music gets faster. Girls gyrate and spin on sleek, shining poles, never taking their eyes off the audience as the seats fill. Tweek hikes his skirt farther up his hips and pours a drunken man another shot before making eye contact with one of the decoy girls. She nods in understanding and takes his hands before leading him to the back room with two bottles of beer she snags from behind the counter.

He knows the business well enough to feel slightly sorry for the drunken man. He'll be knocked out, either with more alcohol or a blow to the head, and looted before dragged into the gutter by one of the muscle headed bouncers stationed around the room. Blaze, Diamonds and Butters arrive later than scheduled but the large chunk of cash in her hands more than makes up for it. Cartman snatches it greedily, nodding approval once the amount has been appraised.

"Good job, hoes." He says cheerfully. "You can have the rest of the night off." Blaze and Diamonds nod emotionlessly before walking out of the club. They're some of the few "workers" that don't actually live with Cartman and flaunt their three bedroom apartment every chance they get. Butters sits at the bar for half an hour, head resting against the cheap wood with large, horrified eyes, only blinking when he seems to remember. Tweek makes him a fruit smoothie with a shot of apple juice the way he likes it. Butters snatches the tall glass and chugs it down before wiping his mouth and heading upstairs.

Tweek rinses the glass out with tapwater and reminds himself to send Sugar to check on Butters later. He had always been slightly jealous of him, of his status as head boy, and Cartman's obvious favor, but had never wanted Butters to suffer the way he did. There was just something about Butters, his sweet, honest personality that Tweek couldn't stay mad at. It was like hating a baby. He just couldn't do it.

An ominous feeling closes around him, like a punch to the gut but he tries to shake it off, tired and sore from a long day at work. Already girls were heading up to bed, chatting quietly amongst themselves. A few leave with a man or two on their arm, looking resigned and chagrined. "Ay!" Cartman calls to him. "Hoe! Bring me a bottle of beer then get your whore ass up to bed." That's the closest the pimp will ever get to caring about them and Tweek accepts it with a twisted sort of affection. His feet hurt and he slides off his clothing as he walks, unbuckling his belt and holding his heels in one hand. The door to his room is closed and jammed shut. Nothing that hasn't happened before, the hinges are old and Butters is probably asleep. He knocks and scowls when there is no reply.

Setting his clothing down and ignoring the amused stairs of the others, Tweek forces himself up against the door, nearly leaping back in shock when he hears a loud crash and the door creaks open slightly. He squeezes his way inside, tripping over the beaten up vanity when the horrible smell hits him. Tweek, on his hands and knees, the sense of foreboding growing stronger, looks up and lets out a horrified, piercing scream.


	12. Chapter 12

It was rather easy to cut Butters down. The noose was made out of torn strips of a Hello Kitty blanket after all. Cartman did it, everyone else too shaken up to be bothered by his threats. He perched on the tipped over vanity with the bowie knife he kept in his desk and lectured them as he worked at the tight knots. Tweek sobbed over his words, on his knees with his hands clutched in his hair, pulling until strands floated to the floor. Blaze Starr stared at the softly swinging Butters and clutched at the space between her breasts, eyes wide and mouth hung open. She had been called back immediately after leaving, for reasons unknown to everyone else. Perhaps Cartman wanted to guilt her into doing a better job. Lord knows he wasn't doing it for Butters.

Diamonds, her ever faithful companion, had her face buried in her hands, staining the pure white silk with mascara and eye shadow. Angel stomped up the stairs just as Butters falls to the floor with a sickening thud. Tweek wailed. "S'all clear, boss." The blonde said uncomfortably. "The last girls have come back and they're all waiting downstairs."

"Good." Cartman stepped down and slung the blond over his shoulder. Moments later his face turned green and he dropped the body. "God, he reeks! Angel, take Vanilla down with you, Blaze, Diamonds, take the body down." They don't dare to argue as he pushes past them. Tweek felt the floor disappear from under his feet and wailed louder.

"I don't want to go!" He screeched. "Put me down, you sick son of a bitch!"

"Will you stop squirming? Jesus H. Christ." Tweek rested his head against Angel's shoulder and sobbed quietly.

"He needs me, take me back, please. He needs me."

He is gently deposited in a chair and curls into the plush material, trying to shrink away from the world. Everyone had been informed of what has happened by now; all looked wary, tired, and sad. Most had disliked Butters for his easy life but none had wished him dead. Tweek keeps his eyes closed and hidden behind his hands, unable to look up as there was the sound of rapid thumping; a dead weight falling down the stairs as two pairs of clicking heels followed.

He moaned deep in his throat as Rose screamed. Cartman hurried down, the cheap chandelier swinging as his weight shook the walls. "Shut up!" He demanded. "Everybody shut the fuck up! Do you want someone to hear?"

They all shut up.

Angel sat down next to Tweek and hugged him close, wrapping an arm around his waist. Tweek broke away and launched into a heart-wrenching coughing fit, hacking loudly. Cartman waited for him to finish before speaking up. "All right, so this is how it's going to go down. This night never happened. There has never been a boy named Butters here. Understand? He never existed. If anyone asks, you don't know what they're talking about." He paused, sides heaving with the force of his breaths.

There had been a small murmur of agreement from them all and Cartman nodded stiffly. "Good. Get on up to bed." Sugar hunted Tweek down and stared at him with large, betrayed eyes.

"I thought you said everything would be okay." He murmured. His shoulders slumped and his eyes are wide and broken. Tweek's smile is bitter and regretful.

"I never said anything of the sort." He marches up the stairs and slips into his bedroom.

His, not the others.

He hadn't slept in that room for a week, having either spent the night with Craig or bunking with the blondes. Angel sees him enter and nods respectfully. "I can leave if you want." He offered. Tweek shook his head. He didn't want to be alone tonight, or be in the presence of that hateful vanity. Tweek's bed is exactly that; a bed, complete with sheets, covers, and a frame. It was just one of the many unheard of luxuries iTweek supposed it's what he got for being the bottom bitch.

He and Angel curled up under the covers like a pair of kittens and Tweek melted, sighing in bliss as the feather stuffed pillows and blanket lured him into sleep. Moments later, he was fast asleep, two strong, warm arms wrapped around his middle. He would have never admitted it, but the sweet smell of Angel, and his understanding, respectful silence was better than any moment he and Craig had ever shared.

When he had woken up, it was far too hot. His eyes flew open and for a moment he wondered if the building was on fire. No. It was Gary who provided the heat, hugging him like a teddy bear, and the smoke was from Kenny's cigarette, blown back in from the nighttime wind and coupled with drunken ranting from the streets below. He seemed to be paying attention to something Tweek couldn't see or hear. He listened and froze when he heard muffled banging. But it was coming from the third floor. No one went to the third floor. Some of the old timers (_but none as old as him_) used to brag that they had been up there until Cartman had heard and _punished them. He punished them because that's what Daddies are supposed to do (PUNISH) and when they never came back nobody questioned it because no one disrespects Daddy's authoritah. _

Angel noticed him and smiled. Tweek remembered it as being beautiful, that smile.

_Because Smiles are so rare, Tweek, so treasure it, treasure that smile and every breath you take because it might be your last._

"I hope you don't mind him." Angel says. "I heard his crying from down the hall and decided you wouldn't mind. He's just a kid, Tweek, he can't help snuggling up." He said that in the southern accent known to make women cream their panties and smiled again. "Is that alright, Tweek?"

_Tweek?_

_How does he know my name?"_

He doesn't know, but it sent a jolt of lust down his spine and to his toes. He nodded. "its fine, Kenny, I don't mind. It had always been my job to take care of the little guys and now…" He pet Gary's hair. "Now he's all I have left." "_Of them" _gets stuck in his throat when Kenny gives him a long, steady look.

"Now, that's not true Tweek." Kenny says, flicking his cigarette out the window. "You got me, too."

Tweek smiled gently and stood up, his sheets tumbling down and pooling at his waist. He walked (_saunters, like a woman on a mission and you bet your fur he knows what that mission is) _over to Kenny and pressed close, smelling his sweat and the tobacco on his skin, and the fading perfume on his clothes. He didn't know what he was doing as a warm, broad hand slides up the arch in his back to his quivering shoulders and Kenny pulled him closer. He didn't know what he was doing when his shirt is unbuttoned, but he knew he'd regret it later it later if he didn't stop now because Craig was waiting for him with Kyle and Flame and The Baby but _Jesus Christ, Craig has never made him feel so beautiful as Kenny had._

They kiss, and just as his shirt hits the floor and Kenny's pants are undone, Gary began to stir and cry, tossing the covers off in his frightened haze. Tweek broke into another coughing fit and gasped for air as soothing circles are rubbed into his bare back. The banging had stopped. Tweek crawled over to his friend and hugged him close, cradling his head to his chest like a mother would. Revenge is a thought that comes gradually, but once it is there it doesn't leave.

He had been selling himself short, he realized that now, happy with just moving on and forgetting these chapters of his life like it never happened when he could have so much more.

He could kill Cartman right now and slip away into the night, no one would ever tell.

It would be so easy.

Tweek will not be satisfied until Cartman is dead. He counted Gary's tears and when the time came, Cartman would pay for each one with a bullet to the face.

He waited until Kenny and Gary were asleep again before he slipped out. The knife is plunged deep into the vanity of his old room. It is cold and solid in his hand as he walked silently downstairs. Cartman's door is opened slightly, enough for him to suck in his gut and slip through. It's expensively furnished, if a bit tacky, and he hates Cartman even more. His hands began to shake as his heart raced in excitement.

_He was going to do it._

_He was actually going to do it._

_He was going to avenge Butters, Pip, and Gary, and everyone who had their lives stolen from them. _

The trembling, sweaty fingers of his left hand grasp the doorknob as his right positions the knife so even if Cartman tries anything, he's going to get cut first. The door creaks open and-

Cartman gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He dragged the sheet covered bundle out of the back of his pick up and groped for feet. Getting a good grip, he hefts the foul smelling corpse up and over, watching as it fell with a sickening "_thud_" into the river. Cartman makes the sign of the cross and kisses his middle and index finger. "Go with Christ, bra." He mumbled, almost smirking at the irony.

Like fags went to heaven.

He was going to miss Butters a bit, he supposed, but he had a business to run and emotional attachments would only compromise that.

He walked back to the car and revved the engine. It was going to be a long drive back.


	13. Chapter 13

"Tweek…"

"Tweek…"

"Tweek!"

"Whuzzat?" Tweek mumbles. He opens an eye. "What do you want, K-Kenny?"

Kenny nuzzles into the crook of his neck apologetically. "You're shivering." He informs him. Tweek opens his other eye and gazes down at his hands. He blinks in surprise. He's not shivering, he's twitching.

His fingers convulse and tremble as he sits up, dislodging Angel and Gary. Both whine softly in discomfort. He presses his index finger to the bottom of his left eye as his vision spirals. It closes against his will and a noise, a choking gasping moan, escapes his throat. "K-Kenny." He mumbles. "K-K-KENNY!" Gary looks at Tweek and wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Dear God! Are you having a seizure or something?"

"I feel fine. I-I-I just can't stop."

"What are the symptoms of a seizure?" Kenny asks, eyes wide.

Gary snuggles deeper into the mattress and closes his eyes. "He's not having a seizure."

Kenny's reply is cut off by the sound of wood hitting wood.

"Guys!" Rose says, bouncing on her heels through the burst open door. "You'll never believe it!"

"What is it?" Kenny asks, petting Tweek's head gently as the lighter blond groans and covers his eyes. "There, there."

"Damn, nice room you guys…"

"Rose!"

"Oh, yeah. Cartman's gone!"

"What do you mean "gone"?"

"He's not here!"

"Well no shit Sherlock!" Kenny snaps.

"A bunch of us are getting the hell out of here while we can! My stuff's all packed and I'm hitching a ride with Chardonnay and Lacey."

"They have a car?"

"If you ask me, then yes. But if you ask the police or some random guy outside Tony's? Then the answer would be a definite no."

"You stole a car?"

"Yeah…"

"That's illegal!"

"Kenny, we're prostitutes! Besides, you gotta do what you gotta do!" She defends. "We're just going to drive to Arlington, then we're-" She stops and squints. "You're not going to tell Cartman are you?" She demands.

"No!" Tweek promises. "W-w-we won't tell anyone!"

"Are you coming?" Lacey demands from the doorway. "Hurry, hurry!" Rose blows them a kiss and flees.

"10 minutes!" She calls over her shoulder. After a moment, Tweek can feel Gary shift and leap from the bed.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" He chants. "Wait! Wait!" Kenny squeezes his hand tightly. Tweek looks at the flower pattern on his quilt. He traces it with his free hand then looks back at Kenny.

"Get going." He smiles.

Kenny raises an eyebrow and stands up. He stumbles when Tweek doesn't move along with him. "What's wrong?" He asks.

"I'm st-staying."

"Why?" Tweek likes that about Kenny. He does not shout, or even raise his voice. He is smooth and free of judgments.

"About h-h-how many do, do you th-thi-think are staying?"

"A few." He suggests. "Two or three."

"And I'm staying w-with them. Gah!"

"Then I'll stay with you too." He suggests.

"Don't be stu-stupid, Kenny. Get the h-hell-hell out of here."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Yuh-You have no ob-obli-oblig-ligation, urk, to stay with me, Kenny. I want you g-g-gone when I count to ten."

Kenny becomes agitated. "Dammit Tweek! Why won't you just get your ass out of bed! Let's stop playing this dumb ass game!"

Tweek squeezes his eyes shut and mouths, "one".

"Dammit Tweek!"

"I've been with C-C-Cartman too long to-nng-leave now. Two."

"Please, Tweek." Kenny's voice breaks. "For the love of God, tell me anything you want, but please don't tell me you're in love with him."

"I'm n-n-not! He's like cancer. K-Kenny. He gr-grows on you, and no matter how h-hard you try you, you, you can't scrape him o-off. No-urk-I don't love him, or feel any kind of f-fond-fondness for him, b-but I'm seeing this through to the end. Three, oh god! Just trust me Kenny, I, I will-I'll be fine. Go, hurry, and t-t-take good care of Gary f-f-for me."

"Tweek…I love you."

"F-four…"

With his eyes still closed, Tweek feels a gentle kiss being pressed to his lips. He tasted Kenny and tears. He shudders, twitches and kisses back. When the mouth pulls away, he whispers "five".

"You're so stupid."

"Six. Ngh."

"If you get killed, I'm not coming back for your funeral."

"Are you st-still here?" Tweek grins darkly, his shoulders contracting. "Seven."

"Spaz."

"Eigh-Eight."

"Love you."

"Nine."

"Idiot." When he opens his eyes, Kenny is gone.

"Ten and a big old I love you too." He murmurs finally. He wraps a cotton bathrobe he finds in Kenny's closet aaround his shoulders and glides down the stairs. Kenny was right. Four people remain, excluding himself. Blaze Starr, Diamonds, a girl named Dynamite and an androgynous person he knew as Bubble.

They sat on the stage, huddled in a circle with a plate of microwavable eggrolls between them. It's too hot on the outside and too cold on the inside but they eat them without complaint. They're not terribly remarkable, and could almost be confused with a normal group of friends if they didn't look so tired and bruised. Bubble holds a bag of frozen rice to his face. "What happened?" Blaze Starr questions.

"Had a friend. Told him not to leave. Got punched." Tweek twitches and decides he rather likes the sound of Bubble's voice. It's quiet and soft, with a faint musical quality.

"And you?" She directs the question to Tweek who squeals and looks away against his will. "Weren't you friends with that boy from last night?"

"Y-y-yeah."

He doesn't elaborate and she doesn't ask him too. When the food is gone and Tweek thinks he might collapse from anxiety, Dynamite speaks. She's very plain, slightly homely, with thin, greasy hair and a constant squint but her voice is loud, boisterous, speaking with a light Detroit accent and college education grammar. She has high self esteem and he envies that. "What do you think he will do when he gets back?"

"Yell, kick, scream, spit." Bubble answers.

"Probably."

"Mhmm."

"Nngh."

She sighs deeply. "This isn't over is it? He's just going to get more girls and boys to fill in the empty spaces, then the cycle will start all over again."

"Well," Diamonds speaks for the first time. "If you know what was going to happen why did you stay then?"

Dynamite smiles a yellow toothed smile. "Someone needed to help the new kids. I decided it might as well be me. Why did you?"

"Becau-"

"You wanted to be a hero. What can you do for them except watch?" Blaze Starr sneers in response. "I stayed for the pay. Charge more, take half that's my motto. Come in early and Cartman never counts."

"I can teach them to read." She answers simply after she's sure Blaze is done.

"Read?"

"Did you know only four people here can read? I mean, really read. Less can do proper math."

Kenny couldn't do either at all. He'd just learned to recognize certain words.

"So, you're going to teach them to read. Great. After a hard day's work they can read and maybe snack on some filet mignon while they're at it."

"Don't you understand? By teaching them to read, we can teach them how to think!" Dynamite's starting to get agitated. She may not be very pretty, but she can be very scary. Her muscles are taut, her hair stands on end and she grinds her teeth. Her eyes squint to narrow slits and the ends of her mouth moisten. She looks insane.

"Cartman's not going to make the same mistake twice. He's not going to be hiring any kids this time around. We're going to be the youngsters this time around. No one's going to listen to you." Bubble says miserably.

"No one's going to want to learn from a little kid!" Blaze Starr yells.

"I'm thirty four!" Dynamite roars. "If you want to go ahead and breed ignorance then you can just go and die!"

"Well, Ms. High-and-Mighty if you've got a college degree then why don't you just go get yourself a real job instead of hanging out with low lives like us!"

Dynamite screeches something Tweek doesn't understand as he slides out the door. He lets himself be carried by the crowd. It gets the point where, at some stops, he can raise both his feet and still be upright, sandwiched amongst the armpits of strangers. Craig's apartment is a familiar, welcomed sight. The doorman ignores him, bowing slightly instead to a youngish girl in a light purple sweatsuit. It's baggy and unflattering on her presumably thin limbs but as they stand together in the elevator, Tweek realizes their colors match up perfectly. When her stop comes, she twirls on her worn out Nikes and salutes him half heartedly. Tweek nods back.

She jogs into the hallway and disappears behind a gold colored door with a slam and an echoing "Ma, I'm home!" She leaves the compartment smelling of sweat and fermenting Head & Shoulders.

He knocks loudly and confidently on Craig's door. He shakes off the thought of not being welcomed in. It has been four days since he last visited and he's too eager to see if Powder has ballooned any further to worry about anything else. It's scary how fast he switches moods he muses to himself. The door opens and a man with a tiger tattooed on his left arm opens the door.

"Hello?" He asks, confused.

The man groans. "Are you here to complain about the music? It's not that loud! Jesus Christ!" Kyle shoves the man to the side violently and slams the door shut.

"Stan!" He scolds. "I told you not to open the door under any circumstances. There could be-"

"-A dangerous man with a foot fetish and a pimp cane knocking, yeah-yeah. Whatever." He yawns. "Listen, I really don't start giving a crap until at least noon."

"Stan!"

"Kyle, I checked the peep hole. He obviously wasn't Cartman. I mean, look at him. He's kind of adorable, Kyle. Seriously."

"He could have been an informant!"

"You said the same about that little old lady from earlier!"

"We'll talk about this later! Tweek, I'm so glad you came! Flame is driving us all crazy."

"I HEARD THAT! TWEEK? TWEEK, IS THAT YOU? COME TO ME! I'M IN THE LIVING ROOM!"

"P-Powder?"

"Yes, Tweek?" She moans. "I know, I'm hideous." Well she's certainly _something_, sprawled on the couch with a tub of ice cream balancing on the nearly perfect dome of her stomach. It's not huge, but its there.

"We should start thinking of names." He suggests.

"Craig for a middle name if it's a boy, Twilla if it's a girl." She says.

He kisses her hand and sits near her feet. So she remembers that story about his cat then. Good thing too. He'd rather Twilla then curse another baby with a crack reference for a name.

_Damn his parents…_

Craig was a nice, strong name though. By the way…

"Where is Craig?" He wondered.

"Craig's still knocked out from their last night excursion." Kyle elaborates.

"Pussy!" She accuses. "I made him stay up late and watch television with me, but he dropped sometime between Good Morning America and Steve Wilkos.*"

"So w-what's with the sh-shirtless Calvin Kle-Klein model?" Tweek whispers to her conspiratorially.

"Looks like Kyle got himself a good hunk-a hunka- burning love." She signs back.

Tweek had never actually seen Stan, except from in his mind. He had imagined him much more Leonardo DiCaprio by the way Kyle swooned. In reality, he was much more Marty McFly with different hair, better body and ixnay the edophilepay. The face was totally the same though. How funny.

Stan looks fairly uncomfortably but Kyle preens himself with pride. "Get some." Powder murmurs. They snicker.

"Tweek?" Craig walks into the room, covered from head to toe in a dark blue comforter. Tweek gulps at his signature "Bitches gon' get cut" look. "Where the hell have you been the last few days? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" Tweek contemplates telling him everything, then just curling into a ball and getting his cry on, but if he did, his Cartman-Gets-Whats-Coming-to-Him dream would be destroyed. So he laughs and looks away awkwardly.

"I can totally explain this."

**AN;. Where I live, Good Morning America starts and four and Steve Wilkos starts at twelve. Yes, I tell time by TV shows. When I'm getting ready for school, if Phineas and Ferb starts I know I need to get my ass out of the house."**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN; This story WILL be finished by July or I swear to God I am going to shoot myself in the foot. We're getting close to the end so I'm pretty confident. Maybe 2-6 chapters left. Well, in case I forget later I'd like to thank all my reviewers. I LOVE YOU ALL! I'm sorry I've been such an epic fail at updating but now that summer's here, I hope to finish most of my stories and then get Average Ordinary Everyday Superheroes back up and running again. Thank you all once more from the bottom of my heart**!

**Also, I'd really love to reach a 100 reviews, so for every 10+ that reviewer gets a one-shot for any pairing, any category they want. So, the 70****th****, 80****th****, & 90****th**** reviewers get a one-shot and then 100 hundred gets a full blown story. I'm also doing the same for fanart, oneshots for every picture! And not just for this story either!**

**So review, I am officially your prostitute! ;)**

**Also, final note, how many of you want Kenny to make a reappearance after this? Let me know.**

***End of Ridiculously long Author's note***

His explanation is expertly crafter; there had been a hooker revolution. Cartman had left for a business trip and they had all fled. He had been helping them plan out routes to go to and calling safe houses. There were only a few of them left now. Kyle's eyes were wide with happiness and a smile spread from ear to ear. Stan was the same, his arm wrapped around his waist. Powder was sniffling softly into her shirt, smiling. Craig looked unimpressed.

"I'm not impressed."

He almost screamed in frustration,fingers grasping the roots of his hair and ready to yank. _What more does he want from me?,_ an annoying voice in his mind he named BitchTweek wailed unhappily. "Look, if it makes you feel better," he gnaws on his bottom lip. "I'm not a prostitute anymore."

_Oh nononono NO! _

_Bad Tweek, very bad! How the hell are you supposed to go through with your plan if you don't have easy access to Cartman? Bad, Tweek! Stop talking this instant! _BitchTweek was on the verge of hyperventilating._ Right now, this instant, young man! You listen to your subconscious! _

But at the shocked, overjoyed expression on Craig's face, his spray of word vomit continues. "I di-did-didn't have anyth-thing to pack and I-I couldn't r-r-risk anyone finding out where I go, s-s-s-so I just w-w-wa-walk-walked here." Craig scoops him up and spins him around, booming with laughter.

"Fuck yeah!"

Kyle whoops happily and does a little jig, abruptly ending when they're angrily shushed by Powder. "Yeah, yeah, so happy. Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to watch Maury."

"I love you too, Powder." He sits on the far end of the couch, with her feet propped up in his lap. Kyle sets off to make a victory dinner, with Stan armed with a fire extinguisher they borrowed from the hallway.

Tweek had given Craig a look and the taller had responded with a dead pan, "I pay rent, the rent funds the building, the extinguisher is part of the building, therefore not only do I own the building I own the fire extinguisher."

"Whatever C-Craig. It still seems li-like a dick move tu-tu-to me."

"You haven't seen Kyle cook yet." Powder yawns, shifting around on the couch. "You'll thank him soon enough."

Stan screams and the "_fwooosh_" of the extinguisher is overpowered by Kyle's angry shout of "Stop that, dude! They were totally supposed to do that!"

In the end, victory dinner is a large platter of deviled eggs and blackened objects that are supposed to be latkes. "There was meat too." Stan offers "But it-"

Kyle slams his hand over the boy's mouth. "He lies."

They eat in front of the television, Stan tearing apart the latkes and tossing them up in the air for Kyle to catch. Power takes the rest of the couch, leaving Craig and Tweek to make themselves comfortable on the floor.

He chews thoughtfully, head resting in the crook of Craig's shoulder. It's good enough, he supposes, he's used to worse and happily takes everyone's leftovers while Kyle beams with pride. "They're just like my brother!" The Jew complains to him. "He bitches about my cooking but when he's too caught up with his PS-whatever-the-fuck-it-is and wants food it's all "Kyyyyllleee, I'm huuuuuuungry, Kyle, make me something to eat, Kyle, Kyle, blah, blah, blah"!"

"I hear you. Urk!" Tweek says empathetically. In truth, he's never cooked anything for himself in all his life, let alone for someone else.

"I knew you would." He gently cuffs Stan upside the head and smiles. "Now, just what am I supposed to do with this lump?"

"Love me forever and ever?" Stan offers through a mouthful of potato.

"Mhmm. Yeah, whatever."

Powder pouts as the couples snuggle. "Forever alone." She sniffs, rubbing her eyes sadly.

"Aw, don't be sad." Kyle says, patting her hand gently. "I'm sure you'll find that special someone someday soon."

"Whatever, Kyle." She rubs her belly. "I just can't wait to get this little bastard out of me."

Tweek gasps in shock, placing his hands on either side of her belly. "Don't u-use such la-langu-gua-age in fr-front of little Tw-Twilla!" He says.

She pouts. "So, the list of things I can't do grow even longer, huh? No drinking, no smoking, and now no cursing? What the hell am I getting out this deal?"

"Now you h-ha-have an excuse to act, urg, like a, a, a complete and tota-total bitch anywhere you w-w-wa-want and nobody will e-ever bat an, urk, eyel-li-lid?" Tweek offers after a second thought.

"…Good enough. I'll take it and run."

Craig snorts with laughter. "Hah."

Her gaze zeroes in on him. "What's so funny?"

"The idea of you running anywhere." He answers plainly.

Tweek chokes on air and there is a moment where everything is silent before she bursts into tears. "Craig! Dick move, bra, dick move!" Stan exclaims as the woman waddles off.

"Well, she asked! If she didn't want to know, why did she ask?" He defends.

"Craig, my friend, you have a lot to learn about women." Kyle says fondly.

"What? Tweek, babe, back me up here!"

"Sorry, Cr-Craig, I-I-I gotta ag-agree with them. Nng. Dick move."

"Traitors!" He accused. "The whole lot of you!"

"Whatever." Kyle snorts. "We're just saving our own asses. Don't pretend like you wouldn't do the same."

"...Damn you, Broflovski."

Powder's wail shakes the pictures on the walls and they all flinch at the sound of something breaking.

"That sounded expensive." Tweek murmurs to himself. Craig flinches again.

"Look, dude, just go apologize. Then buy her some ice cream. She'll love you again. Trust me." Stan observes.

"Traitors." He repeats before walking off to face certain death.

**-I would end it here but I still have a thousand and four hundred words to fill so let's check on the surviving members of the South Park Crossdressers, hm?-**

**PIP;**

Phillip Pirrup smiles graciously as strangers flit into his home. His boyfriend Christophe bows his head graciously but the Brit isn't fooled. He can see the white of his partners knuckles as people file in. His poor little poppet has been coddled, kissed and baby talked into throwing this party for him and hates every second of it. He rubs his arm comfortingly as the door closes for the next five hours. His white turtleneck becomes uncomfortably warm as the room fills, but he feels like his face is going to split open with his smile.

He adores parties and he's never had one thrown for him before. "To Mr. Pirrup and his partner!" Someone toasts, their glass of white wine sparkling pleasantly in the light.

Everyone agrees, chatting amiably amongst themselves as their host blushes a furious shade of red in delight.

"Kizz azzez." Christophe murmurs in his ear. Pip covers his laugh with an awkward cough, elbowing the French man gently in the side.

"Behave."

"I am behaving, can't you tell?" He says sarcastically. "I absolutely love partiez."

The blonde sighs and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. "It'll be over soon enough, dear."

"You owe me for zis, Pirrup." He hisses as he's dragged away by some overzealous woman in a tiara. _Fuck, _he sighs, _I suppose there's only one thing to do now. Satan? Are you there? It's me, Christophe. You owe me big time from that mission last summer, remember? I've come to collect. If you can hear me, strike me down where I stand. _

_Nothing?_

_Damn it all._

_What kind of world was this, where you couldn't ever trust the eternal prince of darkness anymore?_

"So then I told Charlotte, darling you should really meet Charlotte, she's a doll and you two would have the most beautiful children I have ever seen. I can already tell. Don't make that face sweetie it'll freeze like that. I know you'll love her when you meet her, I can tell. So I told Charlotte, Charlotte, sweetie, you're so beautiful why do you insist on wearing that same brand of lipstick everyday when there are so many other more flattering colors? And she says, you know, Ms., it's actually a very funny story. You see-"

"Excuse me." He smiles charmingly, keeping mouth closed lest his filed teeth show. "But az much az I hate not knowing the outcome of this ztory, I muzt find Mr. Pirrup. It'z quite an urgent matter."

She blinks owlishly then smiles. "Well, of course, by all means, go!"

"I apologize onze more." He turns away and smiles. "not charming my azz." He whispers triumphantly. He sneaks upstairs, padding silently to the master bedroom. He digs a package of cigarettes from the nightstand and his favorite lighter, a pale blue one Pip bought him with his first paycheck. "_If you're going to smoke',_ he had said, smiling widely. "_You might as well not smell up my carpets even more with those foul matches."_ He inhales and leans over so the smoke will be carried away by the light breeze.

He flicks the ashes to the ground and takes another slow, deep drag. The door closes silently and he stiffens. Pip would never enter a room unannounced. It just wasn't his way. He pretends like he doesn't notice, crushing the cigarette out with the bottom of his foot and kicking it off the balcony. He leans over to put away the pack and grabs his gun, pointing it towards the intruder. Christophe chuckles when everything is still. "I know you are zhere." He calls out quietly. "Why don't you just ztop hiding like a coward, hm?"

The shadows shift slightly before the light flickers on. "Hello."

Christophe smiles thinly. "Damien. Eet iz nize to see you again."

**Gary;**

He tucks his hair even further under his beanie, staring at the floor as the manager hands Kenny his key. "Room 16." He says dully. They walk quickly, keeping their heads down and their eyes open.

_Rule 1 to surviving on the run, Tweek had said. You've now lost the luxury of chain anything. From now on, mom and pop stores are your best friends, so are sleazy motels. They're cheap, untraceable with bad security._

They had ditched the whores they were riding with a few hundred miles back, taking half the money they had before taking off running.

_Rule 2, never travel in a straight line or a pattern. Zigzag, retrace your steps. Spider-web yourself. _

His butt ached from traveling on a rickety old bus all day and he was starving; Kenny hadn't let him get anything from the snack machines; hadn't allowed him off the bus. "You're my responsibility now, kiddo, and I'm gonna keep you safe."

Gary somewhat appreciated the concern; it was nice for a change, to have someone worry about him.

Very nice.

He warned himself not to get used to it. Kenny was sly and sneaky. He didn't want to start to depend on someone who might ditch him at a moment's notice.

They toss their backpacks on the floor, taking out Dollar Store brand clothes before stripping down and changing. The bedroom has one bed. Kenny opts for the floor and a pillow, and his cheap sleeping bag. Gary washes some of his clothes, his socks and underwear mostly, with his only extra shirt. Their clothes together consists of two pairs of cargo pants, two pairs of matching red and white striped sweat suits, two pairs of sandals, two pairs of jeans, four shirts, a lone Louisiana state university hoodie someone left on the bus and a plastic crucifix Kenny let him splurge on at the crank machines at the Dollar General. He hangs up his clothes to dry then retreats to the comfort of his bed while Kenny flips through the four channels quietly. They're running low on money and both of them are worried. They can't do much without identities and the things they can do aren't much better than what they used to do. Kenny flips onto his stomach and yanks his battered up notebook from his backpack. His plan was to write a book, then live of the profit from that for the rest of his life. He gnaws on a pen and sighs, closing his eyes tiredly.

"I can't do it." He murmurs. "I just can't."

Gary bites his lip He's done the math and they have about a hundred dollars left. Not much when the cheapest motels are around 50 a night. "We could be extreme couponers." He offers.

Kenny cracks open an eye. "What?"

"Extreme couponers." He states. "Like those ladies on the television. They dig around people's trash for coupons, then get thousands of dollars worth of food for free."

The older chuckles thoughtfully. "Well that solves our food problem kid but not our living arrangements. Where would we live? Where would we get the rest of the money we'd need?

"Flea markets."

"Gary, I love you but you need to start elaborating more."

"Flea markets. We take the leftover food or stuff we just don't want and sell it at flea markets. There are hundreds of them down here. Remember, it was on the brochure we found?"

"I remember." Kenny stares at the ceiling. "It's not a perfect plan." He adds finally. "But it's a good one and we might just be able to make it work. Maybe."

_Kenny speak for __God damn it why didn't I think of it first?_

Gary nods. "And people sell all sorts of crap there. What if we actually sold something they needed or wanted?"

"You're onto something there, kiddo." He turns on his side. "Let's sleep on it. We have a long day ahead of us."

"M'kay." Gary closes his eyes and sighs in content. He certainly wasn't dependent on Kenny. In fact, if anything, Kenny needed _him._ Kenny was the type of person that would never fight or bother for himself but give him something to protect and he would show just how lion hearted he could be.

No, he certainly didn't depend on Kenny…but it was rather nice having him around. Not to mention it was his duty as a good Mormon to help those in need and clearly, Kenny needed him too much to ever leave, right?

…

…

…

Right?


	15. Chapter 15

Cartman had, understandably, been pissed off when he returned.

Pissed off being, of course, an understatement.

He had been furious. He had been raging. He had been Ferdinand the Bull when aggravated.

He had flipped over tables and roared, dragging the slow moving Bubble around by the hair before tossing her into a table. Dynamite had fled upstairs while Blaze Starr and Diamonds stay off to the side. They're the bottom bitches now; he wouldn't dare to lay a finger on either of them.

"Where did they go?" He roared, arms in the air like he just scored a goal. "Where the _fuck_ did they go?"

"We don't know." Bubble whimpered, crawling away on her belly.

"You don't know? You don't know? You were here!"

"They just disappeared." Blaze said stoicly. "They left like they normally did and never came back."

Red crept up his neck, a deep fire engine red and for a second, she thinks he's going to have a heartattack and keel over. He doesn't. He quivers and lets out a deep, bellowing roar just as Bubble reached the top of the stairs. He kicked a cheap table over and punches the wall. The plaster gave away and coated the clenched fist in white powder.

Diamonds took a step behind her, hand clenching her tightly. She squeezed back and stood her ground.

"You won't be able to find them if that's what you're thinking." Diamonds spoke up, surprising everyone. "You have no one to turn to. They're gone and you should cut your losses."

He breathed deeply, resting his forehead against the wall. His carefully wrapped, carefully controlled life was unravelling right before his eyes. He had always been in control, could count how many times something had gone the way he didn't want it to on one hand.

_(Listed in order of relevance)_

_4. His mother had died, before he could convince her not to donate his inheritance money to charity. (How many fucks did anyone give about crack babies anyway?)_

_3. His snack cake industry had failed._

_2. His bitches had either committed suicide, been murdered, or run away._

_1. Kyle had left him._

_Kyle..._

When Kyle had left, he had promised himself that things would never get away from him again. Then Powder had disappeared, Pip had probably been murdered, Butters had killed himself and the others had fled.

Even Tweek.

_Fucking vanilla, lily-ass bitch._

It was all his fault. His and Kyle's. He had taken care of them both. He had looked after them like they were his family and they had betrayed him.

_How dare they?_

_ How **dare** they?_

Did they plan it? Did they start disappearing, one at a time, to see what he would do? To test him?

No, they weren't smart enough for that.

They had seen an opportunity and they had taken it. Diamonds was right; he didn't have the tools to track them down. So, what could he do? They had probably scattered all across the country at this point. "Go upstairs!" He snarled to the girls. "If I have to look at you face a second longer I'm going to shove a knife down your throats!" They scurried away in fear.

He walked briskly into his office and slammed the door shut. His shaking fingers dug up a bottle of Whisky and lingered over the gun it was next to. He'd half to do some serious thinking if he wanted to keep the rest of his world together.

Tweek awoke with his head buried in a throwpillow and Powder's feet dangerously close to his mouth. He jerked upright and wiped his eyes. What the hell? Kyle was asleep on the floor next to him, snoring lightly.

The TV hummed pleasantly, some random cartoon playing. He sighed and dropped his head back on the couch. The last thing he remembered was Craig and Stan going to sleep and Kyle helping Powder finish off the last of the food. His stomach heaved and he staggered to his feet. The sun was barely rising through the thin curtains as he waddled to the bathroom. He sank gratefully to his knees and choked lightly, resting his head on his hands. God, he felt like crap. What the hell had he eaten last night?

He vomited and coughed. His stomach clenched and emptied over and over until he heard rapid footsteps approach. He flushed quickly and locked the door. "Hello?" Stan called, knocking. "Everything okay in there?"

"Ye-a-ah..." He answered. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It sounded like someone was puking."

"No, I'm f-f-f-fine, really. It's a-alr-alright."

"Okay then, if you're sure." Tweek waited until the footsteps faded before resuming his position. He didn't have to puke this instant but could feel the need rising in the back of his throat.

"Craig!" Stan hissed, nudging the man urgently. "Craig! Man, wake up!"

"No, I don't wanna." He whined, rolling over to expose his pale belly. Stan leaned over and whacked it with his closed fist. "Urk! Dammit, Stan, whaaaaaat?"

"It's Tweek. I think he's puking but the bathroom door's locked."

Craig sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What about Tweek?" He mumbled.

"I think he's sick. He's puking but the bathroom door's locked." Craig hefted himself to his feet and out of the dark bedroom, wincing in the early morning light.

"Hot damn, what time is it?"

"Ten till seven."

"Fuck me, man." He said seriously, rooting through a drawer. "If this is a joke..."

"It's not a joke, dude! Tweek was puking and wouldn't let me in."

"What's this about Tweek?" Slurred a voice from behind the couch. Powder's head popped over the edge and her arm flopped over the top. "Huh?"

"Nothing, Powder. You're dreaming. Go back to sleep."

She fell silent for a moment before shrugging and her head disappeared back over the edge. "Okay then. What evs." Her snoring echoed around the room a minute later.

"Dude, does that always work?" Stan asked, flabbergasted.

"Hm? What? Oh that? Yeah, most of the time. I can't really tell if she believes it or not or she's just too lazy to actually just get her ass up. Ah-ha!" He crowed triumphantly, holding up a good sized key. "There we go!"

"The-e-ere we go wh-what?" Another, much less sleepy and much more angry asked from behind them. They whirled around, Craig still clutching the key in his suddenly sweaty palm. Tweek stared at them, pretty much buried in oversized clothes. his half-lidded, smouldering eyes glared from underneath his frizzy, curled bangs. His hands clenched themselves at his size. Craig dropped the key on the floor and whooshed by Stan.

"Tweek!" He exclaimed with glee. "There you are! I missed you so much!"

"Craig! Ach! Put me down!"

"Never!" He spun the man around, kissing the top of his head. He squeezed him so tightly the man squealed as he clutched his head to his chest. Over Tweek's tangled mane of hair he mouthed _hide it, hide it, hide it!, _to Stan. He stared for a second, completely oblivious before it clicked. He swooped up the key and placed it quickly on the highest shelf, where Tweek could never reach without the help of a stepladder. He shut the drawer just as fast.

"Urk! Cr-Craig!" Tweek wailed unhappily. "Noooo, put me down! L-let me go, th-th-this instant!" He struggled harder, wriggling and squirming as Craig dotted kisses on his face. "Struggle! Struggle!"

"You're so cute!" He said happily, rubbing his face up and down Tweek's neck. "So, so cute!"

"Damn you, Tucker!" Stan snickered as Kyle and Powder woke up, his boyfriend's bright red hair plastered flat on one side, while the other was just as wild as always.

"What the fuck is he doing to Tweek?" He asked grumpily. "Should I call the cops or something?" Stan wrapped his arm around his waist.

"Nah, Craig's just being affectionate."

"He's being stupid is what he's being." Kyle said starting up the coffee machine.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I know I would hate to be picked up and coddled like that."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really." He looked up just in time to see Stan put on a face that can only be described as devious.

"Really, really?"

"Stan!" He swallowed, taking a step back. "Stan don't you da-Argh!" His taller, heavier boyfriend picked him up with ease. Stan swung him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and spun.

"Kyle! I love you!"

Powder waddled over to Stan. "I wanna be picked up too!" She complained. Stan paused and gently picked her up, bridal style, before spinning again, albeit at a much slower rate. She still whooped like she was on the best rollercoaster ever and Kyle stayed still for fear of hurting her.

"Craig!" Tweek yelled. "Put me down, I'm g-g-g-gonna puke!"

"Nu-uh, Tweek! Never gotta give you up, never gonna turn around, never gonna-"

"Dammit m-m-man, this is no-no time to Rick-r-r-roll me, I'm gon-gonna vomit!"

Craig finally set him down, just in time for Tweek to spray whatever else was in his stomach before blacking out.

**With Damien and Christophe...**

"I wish I could say the same for you, Christophe." Damien said coldly, cocking his own weapon. The two stared at each other unflinchingly, both clad in black with a gun pointed towards their hearts.

"Deed you haf' to come today, of all dayz? You weel ruin Pip's party."

Damien's eyes darkened and he took a step forward. "You fucking bastard!"

"Ah, ah, ah, no shouting!" Christophe tssked. "We don't want anyone calling ze poliz, now do we?"

"You took everything from me!" Damien exclaimed, the music floating up from the room below them a fairly good cover.

"Ez it my fault you deed not take good care of your zings?"

"You knew I would come back for him!"

"You were taking too long, waz I just to leave him zere?"

"He was mine, Christophe!"

"And now he'z mine. Tranzative property, no?"

"You took him from me and now I'm going to kill you." Damien whispered, taking a step forward.

Christophe smiled cruelly. "What'z he going to zink when he walkz up here and findz out you have killed me, what will you do?"

He faltered. "I'll..."

"And you keep zaying "take". But I did not take him. He came willingly. He choze me, Damien. He lovez me. Not you."

"You're lying!"

"I am not. I took nozing from you. He hatez you, Damien. He told me."

Damien shook his head and clutched his gun to his chest. "No..."

"You zink you can leave zomeone in a whorehouze for yearz and zey will welcome you back?" Damien's gun drew up. "You know what you are, Damien?" The safety clicks off. "You...are...ztupid."

There is no satisfying bang. The silencer took care of that. He nudged the body with his boot. "Fucking ztupid." He corrected himself. Their towels are black, and the blood isn't a problem. He tied the body up in their spare sheets and tosses it out the window before jumping out himself. He lands gracefully, shovel firmly in his hand. Damien is light. He had looked sickly before he shot him. No doubt starving himself from guilt.

Fucking stupid.

The large, picturesque lake by their home gleams in the moonlight. He picks up several large, decorative stones and places them to the side. He dug at a shockingly fast pace, head down. Damien dropped in with a pleasant thud and he lit a cigarette as he filled up the hole, replacing the stones. People are constantly moving them around, no one will say anything about them and even if they do, he and Pip are moving to their new home in England in two days.

He chuckled as he leaned on his shovel, staring up at the moon. "Christophe?" Pip called out cautiously. "Christophe, is that you?" He lifted up his hand in greeting, not turning around as his Brit joined him. "Oh Christophe!" He gasped, hand flying to his mouth. "It's lovely! Thank you!" He hugged him tightly, beaming at the stones that he had rearranged to form a heart.

"It was nozing."

"Oh don't be silly, I know how you hate public displays of affection. I'll take a picture in the morning, before we leave. It's too dark for me to see anything right now." He snuggled closer, kissing his jaw adoringly. "You're too good to me." He whispered into his shoulder.

The Frenchman kissed the top of his head. "Anyzing for you, Pip."

_Anything at all..._


	16. Chapter 16

"Hey, Tweeky-bird, where'ya goin'?" Powder asked from the couch.

"Hmm? Oh, I-I'm going clothes sh-shopping. I'll be back soon."

"Oh...well, okay, have fun."

"Alright, th-th-thank you. Can you t-tell the others fo-for me?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Thanks." He jogged down the stairs, noting the full elevator. He didn't like to brag, but he was in very good shape for a man his age. His bag-it's not a _purse, _Craig!-bounced pleasantly against his hip as he made his way past the smiling, cheerful group of people in sweatsuits and the puffing, red-faced overweight couple in matching his and her t-shirts. The doorman gave him an indulgent smile as he burst out of the building and onto the streets.

He was a former prostitute who lived in New York city, finding a pawn shop that didn't ask questions was an easy enough task. The bearded, chubby man behind the counter was very helpful and Tweek was walking out with an aged, off-brand pistol.

It was early, very early, and the streets, while crowded, could no longer knock him off his feet. The closer he got to the warehouse, the more frightened he became. His every sense seemed heightened, he could hear the water dripping onto the cracked asphalt of the alleyway from the rusting pipes, could smell the desolation in the air. He moved towards the door, reading the _closed_ sign with a mix of relief and dread. The leftbehinds would be out, but would Cartman? He pulled out his key and crept in.

The room was completely trashed.

He gasped, eyes wide, before he smiled cruelly. Looks like Cartman hadn't taken the loss so well after all...

Tweek walked upstairs silently, skipping the sixth-from-bottom step that always creaked. The upstairs wasn't any better, still bare from when it had been stripped by escaping prostitutes, his and Kenny's mattress and pillows dragged into the game room. He reached into his bag and withdrew his gun, holding it to his chest.

His heart almost lept out of his chest when he opened the door to his old room. It was exactly how they had left it. His, Gary's, Butters', and Pip's respective perfumes spilled over, the collective scents and smell of a closed room made his head spin. He sat down on the overturned bed, clutching Pip's pillow to his chest, gun by his side, staring at the tipped over vanity. He didn't feel angry anymore.

He felt tired.

Very, very tired.

Tweek looked at his gun and gently brought it up to his face. How easy it would be to end it all, right here, right now. To pull the trigger and sink into nothingness. He smiled and pressed the gun to the side of his head, fingering the trigger.

_"They fell in love!" Biscuit exclaimed in a whisper, cheeks pink with excitement._

He paused.

_Cream looks at his friends curiously. His eyes are glazed with sleep and a stupid smile decorates his face. "You guys sure dress pretty. Think Cartman will let me go to the mall with you guys?"_

_Sugar clasped his hands together and sighed, eyes closed. "I love that story!" He murmured before looking at him with a smile. "Tell it again?"_

_Kenny leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to his mouth. "I love you." He said._

_I smile. "I love you too." _

Tweek lowers the gun and touches his cold cheeks.

Tears?

Tears.

He's crying.

He hasn't cried for weeks. Even when Butters' had died, the only thing that had spilled from him were death threats. He could've sworn he had cried himself out long ago, but now that he's started he can't stop. He can't die now, he thinks with new resolve. He can't die while that fat sack if crap still walks the earth. He gives himself full permission to blow his brains out once Cartman is six feet under.

"Hey hoes! Anybody home!" He scrambles up, clutching the gun once again. "Hello?" Tweek paused, thinking of the best course of action and after a second, jumps up. He landed with a loud thud. "Hey! Who's there?" Cartman demanded. Tweek can hear him begin to waddle up the stairs and presses himself behind the door. He stomped loudly. "I have a gun!" Cartman yelled.

_No you don't, _he thinks with an evil smile. _It's still in your office._

After what felt like an eternity, Cartman finally burst in the room, fists up. Tweek stepped forward. "This is for Pip!" He said quietly and not stuttering for the first time in a month. Then he fired, hands as steady as his father's as Cartman gave him a bewildered, scared look. The pimp dropped to the ground, screaming and clutching his foot.

"You stupid whore!" He roared, staggering back up.

"This is for Butters!" He added, shooting him in the knee. He went down with a crash, screaming even louder. Tweek edged closer, scowling.

"You won't kill me. You don't have the balls, you cocksucking bastard!" Cartman hissed hatefully. Tweek fired again, taking off his ear. "Aaarrgh!"

"That was for Kenny, you fat bastard!" He yelled. He took a deep breath, steadying breath, staring deep into Cartman's eyes. "And this..." he pointed the gun right at his face. "Is for me."

The blone panted as he shoved the gun back into his bag. The crushing hatred that had been overwhelming him for weeks was gone, leaving behind a deep sense of peace. As he made his way back to the main road, he began to whistle cheerfully.

XXXXXX

"Hi, Tweek!" Powder said, smiling. "You're back!"

"Was everything go okay?" Craig asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

Tweek couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Everything's fine, Craig! If anything you should be worrying about how much money I spent." He pulled his partner into a kiss before dropping his bags and plopping into the armchair, still smiling.

"You're sure in a good mood." Kyle observed. "Care to share with the class?"

"And you've stopped stuttering!" Powder added in, delighted.

Tweek smiled wider. "You wanna know why?"

"Yes!"

"You really, really wanna know why?"

"Yes! Yes!" Kyle and Powder exclaimed, crowding closer. Tweek shrugged.

"Alright, I'll tell you. Craig! Stan, c'mere!"

"What is it?" Stan asked warily.

"Oh, don't be such a pussy. Craig stand here." He adjusted the taller man. Craig raised an eyebrow as Tweek dug through his bags. "Where are you, you little bastard?" He muttered. "Ah-ha!" Tweek smiled as he dropped to one knee. Craig paled as his boyfriend held up a small black box. "Whaddaya say, Craigy?" he asked. "Wanna get hitched?"

Powder shrieked with joy. "Oh my god!"

Kyle fist pumped. "Fuck yeah! I'm gonna be a best man!"

"Well what are you waiting for?" Stan demanded, shoving Craig forward. "Dumbass! Say yes!" Craig held up his index finger and dashed off.

"Where's he going?" Powder asked anxiously. "Craig, where're you going? You're not ruining this for me! Get back here and get married, damn you!"

Tweek yelped as he was tackled from behind. "Wha-?"

"Oh you bastard!" Craig growled, dropping him into a dip as they kissed. "You just had to make me the bitch, didn't you? Now I'm gonna have to return this!" He held up his own ring. Tweek draped his arms over the taller man's shoulders and kissed him enthusiastically as Powder shrieked again.

"We're having a wedding!" She said, linking hands with Kyle as she bounced up and down with joy. "We're having a wedding!"

"You bet your sweet ass we are!" Tweek yelled back before his mouth was otherwise occupied.

Stan smiled.

**Originally, Tweek just got a Pandora bracelet with a shit load of charms and was all like, "look, Craig, it's a turtle!" :D and it ended with everyone sitting down to watch How I Met Your Mother but then as I typed "_Tweek dropped to his knee..._ (...s to search for the box) I was like Naaaaah, dey gon' get hitched instead, hyuk, hyuk hyuk! :D **

**So there you go. One more chapter to go. **

**And yes, Tweek just did get away with murder.**


End file.
